


White and Black

by KaleidoMoonScope



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Graphic depictions of vomiting, Homophobic Slurs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, Spirit possesion, Wicca, black magic, blood letting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1321369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaleidoMoonScope/pseuds/KaleidoMoonScope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt assumed his life would be normal, peaceful even as he continued down his Path as a Wiccan healer. He didn’t expect an influx of business caused by black magic, or the devilishly handsome warlock named Jean Kirstein, who made said black magic. He also didn't expect to have feelings for him, enough that he wanted to try and save him from the self destructive path Jean had put himself on. Despite having magic, life isn't a fairytale. There's no guarantee of Happily Ever After.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White

**Author's Note:**

> When a friend of mine (Reiners-Gaydar) posed the prompt of Marco being a Wiccan healer and Jean being a dick who practiced black magic to someone we mutually follow (Thisismouseface), I jumped at the chance to right it. As an actual Wiccan healer in real life, I can never find a depiction of Wiccans in fanfic that actually satisfies me and is true to actual Wicca, not just Hollywood bullshit. So I combined my love of JeanMarco with my devotion to my spirituality and thus, this was born. I hope to update on a semi-regular basis but I made no guarantees as I'm a business major with a full time job.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting everything in an orange glow when Marco finally left his client's house. He waved to the little girl waving at him from the window, the girl's mother telling him to drive safe on his way back to his shop. Being late in the spring, the rainy season had mostly passed, and the weather was nice and clear, if not a bit breezy that evening. He sighed tiredly when he got into his car and backed out of the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires, onto a dirt road. 

In the city, there weren't a lot of people who would pass up the convenience of modern medicine for the benefits of holistic medicine. That's what brought Marco out into the farmland everyday, to treat patients who preferred the old fashioned way of doing things, rather than drive all the way to the hospital to rack up a bill they couldn't afford. 

Even in the city he had plenty of patients, but they came to him instead of him having to make a house call. New aged hippies who distrusted anything government regulated or those who were simply conscious of the amount of chemicals they put and their body and wanted to reduce that. All in all, he was kept in business, and quite a lot of it. 

 

After a nearly forty minute drive, Marco returned to his shop, parking his car in the grimy alleyway next door before heading on inside. His cat greeted him with a loud meow, reaching a paw up to be held. Chuckling, the freckled man scooped his pet up and carried her with him as he went to check his calendar for the week. It was covered in appointment times and reminders for himself to the point the boxes were crowded with tiny lettering. He grimaced at how packed it was, so many healings and blessings to do. What on earth was going on? Was a string of bad energy moving through town? 

That train of thought was interrupted by the phone ringing, forcing Marco to shift his cat into one arm as he grabbed the phone. 

“Sacred Grove, Wiccan apothecary and supply store-oh! Hey Armin. I just got in and I've got an arm full of Thalia. Give me just a second.” he said, grinning when he was thankfully interrupted mid-sales pitch by his best friend. Gently, he sat Thalia down on the counter, the tabby making a displeased whirring noise before settling, and allowing herself to be petted. She was his familiar, as most Wiccans have. As spoiled and grumpy as the aging cat was, she will seemed to love Marco to bits, especially when he fed her. 

“Would you believe I had six patients today and a whole slew of calls coming in about remedies for flu symptoms? I swear, its like this town is having an epidemic. Or we're all officially cursed because they keep trying to develop old Native American lands.” 

On the other side of the phone, Armin laughed, the sound soothing to Marco's ears. “Well, I don't think the entire town is cursed but I suppose that's something to keep a look out on. I'm guessing your week is pretty booked then?” 

The brunette groaned in response, burying his face in Thalia's fur. Pulling his head back up, he adjusted the phone. “Like you wouldn't believe. I'm glad to have the business I really am, I mean, Wiccan style healing isn't exactly a booming market so I'm thanking the Goddess every day that I have more customers but this is nuts.” 

He knew he shouldn't have been complaining, since the influx of customers was helping him pay off his car faster and keeping the heat running in his meager apartment. Still, it set him on edge. Something about it was so off but he couldn't place it at all. None of the patients seemed connected as far as he was aware so it wasn't a Circle gone wrong or something they had simply all caught from each other. It was strange and he didn't like it. 

Armin gave a thoughtful hum. “No, no, I understand. Epidemics don't just happen and if it was an epidemic, it would've been on the news already.” A shuffling sound came from the background, the kind the came from a deck of cards. Tarot most likely, since the blond was rather gifted at reading them, to a point he could tell a person more about them than they knew about themselves.  
“Since you're not free anytime soon, I'll do some readings and see what I get. Although if you ask me, it sounds like curses.” 

Marco's brow furrowed at that. Was Armin being serious here? Curses? It's not that he didn't believe in curses, he was Wiccan and magic was an everyday thing but curses were a different story entirely. They were Black magic, nasty and dark, full of bad energy and against the Wiccan Rede. “Excuse me? Come again?” he asked, hoping he had heard wrong. 

The shuffling noise continued from the phone. “I'm serious, Marco. Flu like symptoms but easily cured? Sounds like a standard sickness curse to me. Look, if you're really worried about it, look into it yourself.” 

Rubbing his forehead, Marco grimaced. As usual, Armin was right. “Alright, alright. I'll look into it. I'll talk to you later, Armin. Let me know what you find out.” With that said, he hung up and set the phone into it's cradle. Thalia meowed at him as he headed into the back room, the grumpy ball of fur following him. 

Scrying was probably his best way of looking into this, since he wasn't gifted with clairvoyance or tarot reading. He was a healer after all. 

Marco grabbed a clean, clay bowl and set it in the middle of the large altar table he had in the back to do his Craft and make medicines on. From a covered jug, he poured some rain water he collected into the bowl before putting in back. He had to fumble around for a wand, looking through the several clay jars full of sanded down sticks he kept until he found the right type of wood. 

So many spells and medicines required particular types of one use only wands that he had taken to keeping the various kinds he needed in surplus so he didn't have to go out and get new ones all the time. He dipped the end of the wand into a container of unprocessed tree sap, having to shoo Thalia out of it so it didn't get in her fur. 

From there it was simple, dip the wand in, run it along the rim of the bowl and concentrate as he listened to the pitch of the sound it made. As he asked questions in his head, he listened to each pitch, an image forming in his mind of a shop in the bad side of downtown, one he had passed many times but never dared venture into. As far as Marco knew, the shop catered to those who practiced Black magic. 

He could see the silhouette of a man, no, more than his silhouette but his face was shadowed, like darkness had become a physical entity and was purposely obscuring it from view of prying eyes. Whoever this was, knew magic well enough to be able to obscure themselves to a degree. It was even starting to give Marco a headache to try and see the man's face, until he couldn't take the pounding in his skull and dropped the wand. It made the headache stop and reality come back as he opened his eyes.

As usual, Armin was indeed right. 

With a defeated groan, he poured the water out and put the stick into his 'to be composted' bin. It was late and now seemed like the wrong time to go confront someone about the morals of not uses curses. Instead, the freckled man made sure the gates were pulled down at the front, the shop doors were locked and the security system was on before heading upstairs to his apartment. 

Living above the shop made it easier for him to work long hours, since he didn't have to drive to work early in the mornings or drive home after closing up for the night. Thalia followed at his heels, purring loudly, ready for nighttime snuggles. 

Rubbing the remains of the headache away, Marco got ready for bed. He changed into his pajamas and made a cup of tea, checking things like his emails and bills while he drank it. Camomile was fantastic for calming his nerves and helping him transition to bedtime. Once the cup was empty, he brushed his teeth and said his prayers, holding the pentagram that hung around his neck between his hands. 

He had grown up in a Wiccan family, who had never pressured him to follow their beliefs but gave him the opportunity when he was thirteen to train for a year and a day to decide if he wanted to become a Witch like the rest of his family. He had found in his studies that the Path had been for him, thus starting his own Path to becoming a healer and finding his own Coven to practice with. 

 

Marco's coven wasn't huge, which was fine with him. It made their connections deeper and allowed their energies to work together better. Armin was in his coven, as was Armin's boyfriend Eren.

Eren's sister Mikasa was their High Priestess, a rather serious and well studied witch. She was so motherly to the lot of them, even if she expressed it through tough love. She certainly knew what she was doing though, something that couldn't be said for many young priestesses. There was another healer as well, a girl named Christa who was possibly the sweetest girl Marco had ever met. 

Aside from the coven itself, they often found themselves joined by some other local Wiccans who either practiced solo or their coven wasn't able to meet for Sabbats or Full Moon Rites because of other obligations like work or family. 

 

Murmuring a 'blessed be' at the end of his prayers, Marco slipped into bed and turned his side table light off. As soon was he was comfortable, Thalia curled up beside his head, resting her head on his shoulder. The sound of her purring was soothing, easing him off to sleep. 

 

It was barely seven when he was woken up, Thalia meowing loudly in his face to bed. With a cat like that, Marco never needed an alarm clock. Grumbling, he nudged the cat away from his face. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The hum of cars passing and the quiet sounds of the city early in the morning greeted him when he opened the window a bit to get some fresh air into the room. 

He went on into his kitchen, cat in tow. He filled her food dish first, scraping the paste like substance out of the can, to get her off his heels while he fed himself. Thalia was face first in her food before Marco even had it entirely on the floor. 

It was early and he had to get working around ten, so he made his breakfast quick by grabbing a muffin and some milk to hold him over until his lunch break. If he was going to confront this guy, whoever he was, he wanted to do it while he still had energy for the day. What was he even going to say? How do does one confront a Black magic user and actually expect them to stop using black magic? The questions rolled around in his head while he got ready for the day, and went unanswered by the time he left the bathroom to get dressed.

Marco threw on some clean jeans and a t-shirt that had the logo of his favorite band on it. He tugged on his sneakers and double checked that he had his phone and keys before heading out the back way from his apartment. It was a fire escape but it worked just fine as a door since it only had one set of stairs. 

He had to google the name of the shop from the image he'd seen in his mind. It wasn't far and he could actually walk to it instead of having to drive, saving him the gas money he'd need to make his appointments today. Double checking that he was going the right way, he headed down the side walk, hand briefly gripping his pentagram for the Goddess's blessing. 

Four blocks down and three streets over, he arrived at the shabbily kept building. It was an old brick place, and it seemed like it hadn't been given maintenance in a long time, unlike the renovated row house that Marco's shop was in. The windows appeared to be tinted, to let a minimal amount of light in but also kept anybody from actually seeing inside the store. 

The whole building gave off a bad energy, one that made the hairs stand up on the back of Marco's next and a wave of nausea pass through him. It was like a warning to turn back now, to stay away because this place was dangerous. He'd come all the way here though, so backing out wasn't an option. 

Gritting his teeth against the nausea, he went inside, a bell hanging from the door jingling when he entered. As he expected, the store was dimly lit and not very big, but pack to the gills with things he had only seen in movies. Ritual knives were lined up on tables, bones and animal parts hanging on the walls and jars of dark colored substances that Marco didn't want to even guess about sat on shelves. There was so much to take in, especially the display of ready made voodoo dolls. It made him feel chilled inside. 

“Just a second!” A voice called from the back room, the was sectioned off by a dark blue curtain. Marco swallowed nervously and made his way to the counter, awkwardly stuffing his hands in his pockets so he didn't accidentally touch anything. There was no telling what kind of spells or enchantments were on any of this stuff. 'Goddess help me for I may have walked right into the belly of the beast.'


	2. Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's out!! 2 days later than I planned but here it is! Jean shows up, there's banter, and things get interesting. All in all, I really want to see a fan interpretation of what Jean looks like that would be fucking awesome because I have an image in my head but I want to see what other people imagine. Eh, maybe down the road?? 
> 
> Well enjoy <3

The curtain parted and the owner, or at least what Marco assumed was the owner stepped out. It looked like the man had just woken up, and hadn't finished getting dressed yet. The man was shirtless, showing a tattoo that looked like fresh Y incision stitches and sleeve tattoo of all manner of occult symbology, most of things that made the brunette's skin crawl. The man gave a smirk at Marco's uncomfortable demeanor, like he knew Marco didn't belong there. It reminded him of a wolf. 

Marco cleared his throat and shifted a bit, trying to ignore the rosary hanging from the blond's neck, an inverted pentagram with an upside down cross hanging from it. “I-I need to speak with whoever is in charge of working magic here.” 

To be honest, he had no idea why he was so nervous. If it wasn't for the fact he knew someone here was potentially good with curses, he'd call this guy a poser. Looked like some douchebag from a Hollywood movie that was supposed to be a Satanist or some mockery of a Pagan. An upside down cross? Seriously? Either this guy's particular brand of theology involved St. Peter or he was really just trying too hard to be hardcore. 

The man's smirk only got broader, tongue sweeping over chapped lips and snakebites. “That'd be me. What can I do for you? Need me to curse the jocks who beat you up for your lunch money?” 

The brunette spluttered at that, before huffing indignantly. Not only was he being called a kid, this asshole had the balls to call him weak. “No! I came here to ask you to cease and desist! As much as all your cursing has been helping my healing business, my moral code won't let me just let it keep happening since I know about it.” He explained, trying to keep his voice steady and firm. 

“Ah fuck, no I don't have a moment for your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, I don't want to go to your youth group and I won't fucking attend church. Fucking exit, stage left.” He said, jerking a thumb back at the door. It was clear he'd gotten a very wrong impression of why Marco was here. Then again, he supposed the fact he was clean cut made it easy to mistake him for Christian when he starting talking morals sometimes. 

Marco slammed his hands down on the counter. “Fuck you! I'm not here about that. I'm Wiccan, first of all and second of all, your religion isn't my business. I'm here because I'm a healer and thanks to whatever curses you've been slinging around, a crap ton of people are getting sick. Consider this a cease and desist notice, asshole.” 

The blond leaned back, a bit shocked at the outburst from Marco, who had been so nervous a second ago. Getting mistaken for Christian really pissed him off, to be honest. 

He took pride in his religion and refused to have it dismissed by anybody. It was part of his heritage as well, generations of Wiccans who didn't hide their religion and practice in secret because they would've been killed otherwise for it to just be swept under the rug in 2014. 

For a moment, the blond just stood there, quite obviously analyzing Marco as he scratched the patch of hair that trailed up to his belly button. “Okay, I'll bite. Who the fuck are you?” He asked, sounding far less confrontational now. “And how did you find me?” 

Marco was still scowling but he leaned away from the counter, instead of crowding this guy's personal space. “My name is Marco Bodt, I'm a Wiccan Healer and I own Sacred Grove a few blocks over.” He replied, figuring he could humor him with an answer. “I'm good at scrying. Well, as good as I can be with whatever dark energy you have swirling around you. It obscured your face and gave me a headache.” 

The brunette was surprised when a hand was nearly shoved in his face for him to shake. Tentatively, he did so, watching the tattooed man warily. “Name's Jean. Jean Kirstein. Can't say I'm sorry about the headache 'cause I'd get the shit beat out of me more frequently if I didn't keep off the magical radar.” 

It made sense, if someone was cursing others, that they wouldn't want them to be able to find them too easily or know who he was. There were people who might try to seriously hurt Jean if they found out after all. Not all those who used magic were peaceful. 

Jean rolled his shoulders, a nasty sounding crack coming from it. Now that he got a better look at him, Marco realized that Jean looked sick. His eyes were a bit sunken, with dark circles under him like he had insomnia. Several scars showed on his arm that wasn't inked, many of them fresh and Marco wondered if they were blood magic related or self harm. Even the pallor of Jean's skin was sickly, like someone who'd just come out of rehab for hard drugs. 

Black magic really did a number on people though. It made them sick or drove them crazy or flat out killed them. He shouldn't have been all that surprised that Jean looked that way. 

It also made it that much more real, melting away the previous image of a poser who watched too many horror movies and brought forth a victim of something he was doing to himself, like a drug addict who didn't want to get clean. 

Ever the bleeding heart, it made Marco feel bad for the guy, who may have been horribly misled at some point and couldn't find a way out of the mess he'd gotten himself into. He finally stopped scowling and attempted a friendly smile. 

“You know, my coven is always accepting new converts. If you ever want to get out of the darkness you've gotten yourself into, you can come to one of our full moon rites and we'll help you,” He said. 

He'd come to tell this guy off and in his own anger at being mistaken for a bible thumper, he had. Now he just felt sorry for Jean. 

Of course, no good deed goes unpunished. 

“I don't fucking need help, you pretentious asshole. I'm totally fine doing what I'm doing. It pays my bills and I'm not bound to some uptight moral code. So you can take your preachy little ass out of my store, and don't come back.” Jean looked notably pissed as he searched his pockets for something before pulling out a packet of pills, popping a few and swallowing them dry. 

Unprepared for things getting ugly, Marco decided it really was best to leave. He didn't have the energy to spare to fight off anything Jean might throw at him should he piss him off enough. 

Still, he pulled a business card out of his pocket and put it on the counter before turning tail and leaving. He had to get to work anyway and if this guy was going to be difficult, he'd have to deal with him later. Maybe bring Mikasa with him too because she was good at intimidating people. 

 

Work was tiring as usual, using that much of his energy to lift curses and heal sickness drained him and made him tired. Of course, Marco still had to finish a few things around the shop before he could retire for the night. He probably had messages to check, things to clean, he knew he had at least one ointment he needed to start the base for tonight and had he even eaten dinner? 

Sighing, he let himself into his shop, greeted by a meow. Thalia was doing that weird, cat-loaf thing on the counter. You know, when they pull all their limbs under themselves and they're tucked so they look like a loaf of bread with a head and tail? 

Okay, maybe that's just what Marco liked to call it. 

He went behind the counter and set his bag down, freeing up his hands to give his cat some affection after being gone all day. Leaning on his forearms, he buried his face in Thalia's fur, nuzzling her and letting the day's stress melt away. He called it fluff therapy and it seemed to make Thalia just as happy since she purred like a buzzsaw when he did it. 

He didn't hear the bell at his shop door ring, signaling somebody had come in, too engrossed in the warm, earthy smell of his cat and how soft her fur was. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Marco's head shot up, shocked to see Jean standing in his store, and also wearing a shirt. Was that a Souxie and the Banshees t-shirt? He cleared his throat and gather Thalia up into his arms like she would protect him or something. “Oh you know...Saying hello to my cat.” 

Jean snorted in amusement as he started walking around, looking for things. “So are you normally face down in pussy or is this a special occasion?” He was teasing, at least Marco hoped he was. 

“What do you want? Come here to judge my habits or did you need something?” He asked, watching the blond carefully, not wanting to let him get out of his sight. He especially didn't want him taking or placing a curse on anything. 

Jean paused in his pilfering through a basket of wild mushrooms. “Yeah, I need some spell ingredients but I don't have them.” 

Marco frown, clearly not liking where this was going. “I'm exercising my right to refuse you service since I know what you're going to use those ingredients for. I'm not enabling you.” 

The blond turned to look at him, his expression a bit dangerous, like someone who'd been told they needed to go to AA. “Fuck you, man. I have bills to pay too. I need this for work and I really need this fucking paycheck.” 

Shrugging, Marco just scratch Thalia behind the ears. “I can't in good conscious allow you to hurt somebody else. You've done enough.” That was an understatement since he still had a full week ahead of him, cleaning up Jean's messes. 

He couldn't just let Jean leave without some kind of token of good will though, to maybe encourage him to denounce black magic and get himself healthy and safe. So he set Thalia down and grabbed a small, brown paper bag and went around his store, dropping some things in it. 

Valerian root tea to help with sleep, some sage incense to get rid of bad energies and dark presences, and a Baltic amber necklace to ease any pain Jean might be in. 

He folded the top of the bag and held it out to the man, giving him a look of sympathy. “Go home, get some sleep and think about my offer. You need it.” He said. 

Surprisingly, Jean took the bag. He hadn't exactly expected him to, since it likely wasn't even close to what he was looking for. Marco just felt the need to help someone who was suffering, whether they knew it or not. Kind of like a mother. 

“Need what? The sleep or your offer?” Jean asked, giving the brunette a quizzical look. It made him look like a dumb, mangey lost puppy kind of. It was almost cute. For a moment, there was no response as Marco considered it. 

“Both. You need both.” He replied, going to pick up Thalia again, only for her to jump down from the counter and trot over to the newcomer. She rubbed against Jean's legs and nuzzled her head against him, purring loudly all the while. She'd always been a friendly cat but now she was just being a little traitor. 

Jean chuckled and knelt down to rub Thalia, soon scratching under her chin which she made her enjoyment of apparent. “At least someone here likes me. Just my luck, it's the cuter one too.” Thalia gave a little meow at that, as if agreeing with him. 

Marco just rolled his eyes and went to shut down the cash register for the night. “You're not getting anything else, you stray. It's late anyway and I want to close up shop and sleep.” He said as he locked the drawer of the register. 

“Afraid I'm going to ruin your merchandise, Freckles?” Jean was grinning at him impishly, amused at his own joke. 

“Yeah I'm afraid your douchebagness will rub off on it. Now hands off my cat and out you go.” He was tired after his long day and as much as it was in his good nature to want to help others, this guy grated on his nerves in a way he wasn't accustomed too. Not only did he have a complete lack of regard for others, he didn't even seem sorry about it in the least. He had no respect for magic, he just saw it as a means to an end. 

Or that's what Marco got from it, from their conversation that morning. 

Pouting theatrically, Jean stood up and headed for the door. “Fine, I see how it is, a guy comes to you for help and you throw him out. That's cold, Marco. Ice cold. I might have frostbite now. They'll have to amputate.” 

Marco just scooped Thalia up, not in the mood for Jean's theatrics. “You can come back another time when I don't feel like passing out where I stand.” 

Jean grinned, though it was far from a friendly expression. “Oh you'll be seeing me around, Freckles. After all, I don't like to leave lose ends or have people fucking up my work. You know what they say, virgin blood works best.” 

With that chilling, and hopefully empty threat, the blond left the store, leaving it empty and quiet after the bell on the door stopped jingling. Marco let out a breath and stared down at his cat. “He doesn't just need guidance, Thalia. He needs a shrink.” 

 

As per usual, Marco closed up shop after leaving a mason jar full of water and herbs to distill over night, and headed up his apartment upstairs. He ended up having a very late dinner of left over taco fillings on a sub sandwich roll and grocery shopping got added to the to do list of things he needed to do this week. He had no idea when he'd have time though so it would likely mean fast food or take out. 

He took his shower and said his prayers before climbing into bed, grateful for the comfort of his soft mattress and blankets after such a long, draining day. As usual, Thalia curled up near his head, shoving her face into his neck. The sound of her purring soothed him to sleep.


	3. Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Jean being a pissbaby and Marco trying to be patient with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't good for my lungs cause I spent 80% of the time I worked on the chapter smoking like a chimney. Don't smoke kids. 
> 
> In other news, I have no idea when the next chapter will be out so if you want news about updates, check my tumblr.
> 
> It's http://istillwannabeasailorsenshi.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Yup.

Trost was a dead end town. Marco had known this since he was old enough to watch TV and understand the content on at least a basic level, realizing everywhere else was much more alive. It wasn't famous for anything, it wasn't the home of anyone famous, and it didn't have some kind of particularly riveting history to it, unless you liked Salem Witch Trials kind of stuff, and even then it wasn't all that neat. At least to people who didn't know all the hidden gems it had to offer. 

It wasn't a city even if the land it covered was large. The central part of town only covered about a third of a square mile. That's where everything was, all the stores, the fire and police departments, the hospital, the courthouse, everything. 

There, it was crowded and bustling so it almost had the feel of a city, but a short drive gave a clear reminder that Trost was smack dab in the middle of nowhere. The real cities were a few hours away, down the interstate that always seemed to be in a state of construction to repair it. 

Roads inside of Trost needed repairs more than the highway did. The town was old, almost 350 years old at that, and some back roads were dirt packed over old cobblestone. It smoothed it out enough but when the rainy season hit in April, that all went to shit. A lot of things in Trost needed repaired. 

Like the old abandoned houses that peeked out like lone wild flowers once you got far enough from the main part of town, out into the rolling hills of the farmland. Like the old bridge over the creek that went out every winter because it wasn't holding up anymore. Like a lot of the old, supposedly refurbish buildings in town that had lead paint and rotting floorboards. Not the damn way out of this town. 

Hell, the newest buildings were still at least a decade old, most much older than that. The town as just so stagnant, as if clinging to the past even as things grew older and into states of disrepair. 

A river ran just to the south of Trost, just behind the shopping district, wide and horribly dangerous. It wasn't fast but it was full of sink holes and drop offs. There were signs saying not to go out into the river but that never seemed to stop anyone. There were at least five deaths a year in that river, mostly children who couldn't swim well enough to get back to the surface. 

The rest of Trost was farmland dotted by forests and little out of the way gas stations. It seemed to go on forever, as roads varied between dirt and worn asphalt. 

Places like this were dead ends towns. Slow paced, forgotten and people would be born here, live all their lives here and then die here without even a chance to get out and go somewhere. Yet it was still home, still lovable so long as you surrounded yourself with the kind of people who made it worth staying here. 

 

These were the kind of things Marco thought about when he was awake two hours early and unable to sleep, because Thalia had rolled onto his face and his body had jerked at the lack of oxygen. Thalia was curled up on his chest now, purring happily like she hadn't been a little shit. 

It was 5 AM for fuck's sake, he shouldn't have had the energy to be awake but the three-quarter moon that shined in the window seemed to think otherwise. The whirs and squeaks of his overworked and decidedly ancient plug-in fan didn't help either. It was warm out, the heat starting to rise as spring gave way to summer but it still wasn't hot enough to turn on the AC for the season.

Eventually Marco simply gave up on sleep and moved the chubby tabby cat off of his chest and got out of bed. His warm spot was shortly occupied once he left for the shower, in the hopes the water would makes him feel less sluggish. 

After his shower he took the opportunity to read some emails and catch up on Facebook before he made breakfast. Marco made sure to put Thalia's food out as well, even if the fluff ball wouldn't come to eat it for another few hours. With food in his stomach and a hot cup of black tea to jump start his brain, he decided he might as well work since sleep wasn't an option. This week was just too stupidly busy to take a real break. 

 

Marco had a default style, of skinny jeans and baggy hoodies when it was cool enough, which tended to make people think he was younger than he really was, because what self respecting adult wore skinny jeans that were colored? Especially in the colors Marco wore? Well, Marco certainly did and even if he got slurs thrown at him in this stupid rural town for it, he didn't care. 

So he dressed, and put on his favorite hoodie that he'd had since high school. It was horribly worn and had several patches on it now but it was warm and he couldn't bear to part with it. It was an old Green Day hoodie, from when American Idiot had just come out and he had been old enough to go to their concerts. This morning was cool enough for a jacket over his t-shirt so he couldn't resist. 

The shop was quiet when he came down into it, carrying his cup of tea with him into the back room to check on the jar he'd put together last night. The water had been boiling hot when he poured it in and had leached the essential oils from the herbs. The water was murky with plant matter that was too water logged to stay together anymore. 

He simply put another jar into the sink and set a strainer over it, carefully pouring the liquid into it. He even squeezed the mush of herbs to get the remains out. Now he just to mix it with a thickener to make it into a paste so it could be used as an ointment. 

 

Marco got so engrossed in his work that he ended up having to scramble to open up shop on time, trying not to trip over Thalia who had wandered down into the shop sometime while he was working. The incessantly purring ball of fluff followed him as he set up shop for the day. 

After last night, Marco hadn't honestly expected to see Jean again, not really. Even if he had made that threat and seemed to have a bone to pick as well, he didn't seem all that interested in coming back. At least, that's what Marco had though. 

But who would he find right outside the door when he went to unlock it, leaning against the display window in a dark hoodie and some wadded toilet paper stuffed up one nostril but Jean himself? With a frown of concern, Marco opened up the door and wordlessly motioned for the other to enter. “Let me get you a stool so I can take a look at your nose.” He said as he let the door swing closed. 

Jean shook his head though. “Nah, my nose is fine. I need you to look at this cut and tell me if its infected.” He pushed up the sleeved on his untattooed arm and turned it over, showing the back of his forearm. Among the mess there, was a rather red and swollen looking cut. Pursing his lips, Marco went into the back and come out with his first aid kit. It was a mix of normal first aid essentials and some holistic stuff.   
“Well come here.” He pulled the stood out from behind the counter and set it for the blond to sit on while he took care of his arm. Jean sat and laid his arm out on the cool glass of the counter, goose bumps raising on his skin. 

Snapping on some latex gloves for sanitary purposes, Marco dug around in his kit until he pulled out a pair of tweezers, some gauze pads, a jar of honey and some bandages. Using the tweezers, he had to pluck off the newly forming scab to reopen the cut and make sure there wasn't any puss. Jean swore under his breath because it hurt. 

“Oh stop being a baby. You're the one who came to me for help in the first place.” Marco scolded as he dabbed the cut with gauze. 

Jean sneered. “Well, I didn't think you were going to rip the damn thing open again.” 

Marco just opened the honey jar and dipped his finger in, scooping up a glob. He ran it over the cut before having to use a clean finger to get some more. Once a decent coat of the sticky substance was covering the wound, he put the gloves and gauze in the trash and put the first aid kit up. “Leave that be until it dries. You can just sit there, hopefully without getting into trouble.” 

Jean stuck his tongue out, like a petulant child at that. Thalia hopped up onto the counter and nuzzled her face into the blond's, as if saying hello to the unfamiliar human. He chuckled and pulled her onto his lap to pet her with his free hand. “You're a sweet little thing. Shame your owner is such a tight ass,” He cooed. 

Ignoring that, Marco went back to work, soon scooping the ointment into little individual jars for sale. It was just a simple remedy for sunburn that soothed better than aloe and helped with the peeling skin portion of it. 

“It's dry. Now what the fuck do I do?” Jean called, having been left alone with Thalia, who had decided that sitting on the floor and licking her own butthole was more interesting than the man. Marco came out of the back room. 

“Let me, I don't want you to hurt yourself,” He said, actual concern in his voice. Carefully, he got the end of the dried strip of honey to peel up, then pulled it off like a bandaid. It pulled the soon to be infected skin off and had made the bleeding stop. He finished up with wrapping the arm in bandages. 

Dumping the dried honey in the trash, Marco leaned on the counter. “You wouldn't have problems like this if you stopped messing with black magic,” He chided, yanking the toilet paper from Jean's nose. It didn't need to be in there because it would dry out the nostril and just make the bleeding start again later. 

Jean pulled his hoodie sleeve back down. “I'm not taking life advice from a guy in pastel skinny jeans and a Green Day hoodie. Either decided if you're going to stay with your high school emo phase or if you're going to the Pride march.” 

Marco ever so slowly raised his middle finger. “If you have a problem with me being gay, you can leave thanks.” 

At that, Jean's eyes widened. “Shit, I was kidding, I didn't know you were gay. You're so uptight. I'm gay too, I don't have a problem.” 

Well that had been unexpected. Not just that Jean was gay but the random sharing of personal information. Since when were they at a stage where they could talk about themselves? 

Marco just put his hand back down though and checked the time on his phone. “I have to go make a house call when means you have to leave the store. I'll be back later if you need something, alright?” 

Jean shrugged and got up from the stool, not really giving an answer. “Adios bitchacho,” He said before taking his leave. 

 

After that, Jean began showing up a lot. Not every day but still more often than Marco had thought possible. Some days he would be waiting outside as the store opened, with a new infliction he needed taken care of, thus leading him to start calling Marco 'Doc' as a nickname. Some days he'd stroll in during the middle of the day while the freckled man was trying to eat lunch behind the counter, a crooked, sleazy grin on his pierced face and a “What's up, Doc?” on his lips. 

Today was no different. It was now mid-June and the heat was bringing people out of their homes and into the outdoors, meaning sunburns, bug bites, and all sorts of unpleasant heat rashes. Marco had stocked up on remedies for all of those afflictions, as well as incense to keep bugs away at night. 

Being summer, college students were home for the holidays so he'd also made sure to stock plenty of his hangover remedy tea. Even among non-Pagans, anybody who knew about it highly recommended it to their friends because it worked so well. So it sold fantastically, much to Marco's pleasure. 

The store bell rang not too long after opening, as Marco was finishing up a call for a home appointment. “So I can fit you in tomorrow at nine in the evening. Will that be alright?” A short pause came as he scribbled on his calendar. “I'll see you then. Thanks for calling.” 

When he put the phone down, he groaned. He still hadn't had a single break from the rush of appointments and half of them weren't even magic related. 

Jean chuckled and leaned on the counter. “What's up, Doc? Shit week?” He had what looked like a burn on his forehead and part of his eyebrow was notably singed. 

“No, just busy,” Marco replied as he got the burn salve out. He'd taken to keeping his first aid supplies under the counter. He didn't even give a warning as he got some on his finger and reached out, dabbing it on the burn. 

Jean scrunched up his nose in that satisfying way people do when you boop them on the nose. It made the other man laugh as he put the burn salve away. “Okay mom, thanks,” the blond muttered sarcastically. 

Marco found himself booping him on the nose just for the hell of it. “If you stopped showing up here like a pathetic homeless dog, I'd stop feeling the need to take care of you and feed you.” 

A snort came from Jean as he batted away the hand in his face. “Yeah, one black magic user, house broken and lovable. Responds to Jean and fuck face. Looking for a forever home.” It did kind of sound like Marco had been talking about a puppy for adoption after all. 

Marco laughed again and wiped his finger on his jeans. “Except you're not house broken because you make a mess every time you're here.” 

“I knock over a display one time and suddenly I'm a walking disaster.” Jean held up his hands defensively, though the air of friendly teasing was still there. 

The brunette gave Jean a look, knowing that statement was entirely bullshit. Jean was walking disaster because he never seemed to not be injured in some way. “It wasn't one time and you know it. If you're going to keep coming in here and doing nothing, I'm going to put you to work. I can only take on charity cases for so long.”

The resulting expression on Jean's face was hilarious. A mix between incredulous and trying not to laugh at the other's wit. “I'm not a fucking charity case!” 

“You're right, you're a basket case.” The come back was nearly instantaneous.

At that, both of them lost it until they calmed down and ended up looking at each other, wondering how the hell they'd gotten here. They were just sitting around, talking and laughing like friends did when a few weeks ago they wanted nothing to do with each other. It was strange, nice, but strange. 

 

That's how it continued through the rest of the summer. Marco's nagging had caused Jean to refuse some of his more dangerous jobs but not much else changed. Jean still came to get his various injuries fixed up just about every other day and Marco still doctored him, though a lecture start coming with it. 

When Jean came in with sunburn, the freckled witch had had him lay down in the back room with some salve for it slathered on his back for a few hours, which they two spent debating which installment of the Zelda franchise was better. 

Once, blond came to the shop when Eren and Armin were dropping in to do some shopping, only for Jean to whistle at Armin like a creep on the street whistles at women. It resulted in Eren giving Jean a black eye and a bloody nose, before Armin was able to pull his temperamental boyfriend off. He apologized profusely but Jean apologized in return for being an asshole. Okay, so the whistle wasn't called for. He didn't get a lecture when Marco patched him up because the brunette decided getting beat up was scolding enough. 

When Marco had had to stay up late working in the shop, Jean came by with beer and Chinese take out, which was more than welcome. In the end, he'd gotten no work done but he had beaten Jean at 3 out of 9 rounds of Mario cart, nothing was broken and he'd had something for dinner besides a peanut butter sandwich for the first time in two weeks. 

By late August, Jean had become a regular fixture of Marco's life, bringing bursts of entertainment. It broke up the monotony of everyday, between work and more work. Even if Jean was a walking accident, he liked having him around. Maybe more than he was willing to admit.


	4. Asphalt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As·phalt  
> ˈasfôlt
> 
> 1\. a mixture of dark bituminous pitch with sand or gravel, used for surfacing roads, flooring, roofing, etc.

No sun crept into the room this August morning, the blackout curtain drawn to keep the light out on purpose. The numbers on the clock changed from 6:59 to 7:00, before it began blaring out the heavy metal station the radio was set to. Groaning in agony from a pounding skull, Jean slammed his hand down on the off button, swearing to himself he was never drinking that much again, like he did every time he woke up with a nasty hang over. 

Still, he got out of bed and trudged into the bathroom, not turning on a single light as he went. He stripped off yesterday's clothes which coincidentally were also the clothes from the day before that, and stepped into the shower stall. The only advantage to his shitty apartment was the fact it had stall showers, none of the bathtub with a shower head crap because he didn't have the time or energy to keep that kind of thing clean. 

Turning on the water, Jean didn't even care if it was cold as he leaned face first into the cool tile wall. It felt good on his throbbing head, which was effectively punishing him for his alcohol intake. He hissed when the water found its way to a raw burn, one that probably needed treated more than just running it under cool water like he'd done last night. As soon as his single employee showed up to work, he'd head over to Marco's and get it checked. 

Eventually Jean peeled himself off the wall long enough to get decently clean and shaved before he turned off the water and went to go get dressed. He turned the bathroom light on on his way out to give himself some light without irritating his head. Clean jeans? Check. Mostly clean shirt? Check. Damn he really needed to do laundry. He was down to some old jeans from high school that had holes in the knees and writing all over them. Checking the tray atop his dresser, he pleased to find enough change to use his apartment building's shitty washer and dryer.

He flipped on the heat lamp in his snake's tank, giving the creature a tired grin. “Morning, Circe.” The ball python was currently doing what it was named for, laying curled up in a ball, it's butt resting atop it's head. He poked his head out some more when the light came on, lifting towards his owner. Jean gave the tank a once over, making sure there was no poop, no shed, nothing that needed to be cleaned up. Satisfied, he opened the tank up and lifted Circe out. 

 

Making his way to the kitchen, Jean put his snake up on his shoulders, where Circe curled around his neck some so he wouldn't fall. The roommate was still on the couch, snoring like a buzz saw. The roommate was what Jean liked to call his flatmate, who he'd found through a flyer looking for a gay friendly, pet friendly person to split rent on an apartment with. He'd ended up meeting the biggest bitch with the best sense of humor, Ymir. 

Deciding he liked all of his fingers not being broken, Jean didn't even try to wake her as he started breakfast for himself. Nothing fancy, just some toaster waffles and black coffee. Circe came up and pressed his nose against Jean's face, until the snake was crawling up towards the blond's head. Jean had to resettle him so he could see without snake blocking his vision. Not that there was much to see in the tiny kitchenette, that now lacked a window every since he and Ymir had put in a window unit to make up for the ancient building's lack of central air conditioning. 

The apartment was small, dirty and dim, since it's only occupants had habits of being slobs and too hungover to turn the lights on and clean. It also saved them on electricity to not have the lights on, like ever. 

Jean grabbed the toaster waffles from the freezer, briefly checking to make sure they weren't expired before popping three into the toaster. Once they were set to cook, he popped open the coffee maker and put a filter in, leaving it open as he put away waffles with one hand and filled the pot with the other. It was missing it's lid and the handle was on its way out too, meaning a new one would be needed soon. 

It baffled people how Jean was always broke when he own his own business, but working black magic doesn't pay as well as one would hope, not with a snake, college loans, a car payment, and a couple of speeding tickets draining his own personal funds. 

Moving Circe out of his line of vision again, the blond went back to the task at hand. He got out the coffee grinds and poured them into the filter, popping the compartment shut and pressing the power button a couple times before it seemed to stay on. Okay, a new coffee maker was definitely on the list of needs this month. Which would probably mean he'd have to buy the cheaper brand of frozen rats for Circe who was a picky enough shit as it was. 

While breakfast was cooking, Jean brought his snake up to his face, pressing a few kisses on top of Circe's head. He had no idea why his familiar tolerated the affection but he did and it was pretty cute actually. 

The morning quiet didn't last long, because eventually Ymir woke up on her own to go puke her guts out, before ambling into the kitchen for coffee. She downed a cup pretty quickly with a couple Advil before she even acknowledged Jean at all, clearly not pleased with her state of being at the moment. All Jean did was grab his waffles and coffee without a word before going to sit on the couch. 

They lacked an actual table. They lacked a lot of things, especially since Ymir lost her job and Jean was paying all of the rent by himself. The economy in this town wasn't the best and the job market wasn't looking too good. That's the problem with dead end towns where it's so stagnant it makes the front page of the local paper when the high school football teams go to the state finals. 

It would be a few months until Ymir had a new job and was helping pay the bills again, but Jean knew they'd manage just fine. They had before. 

Jean downed his food pretty quick before putting Circe back in his tank, making double sure it was closed before he left, tugging on his boots and shoving things he needed into his pockets. Keys, phone, wallet, smokes, and his lighter. He doubted Marco had any since he didn't smoke and used matches for his candles. 

The walk to his store was short, a few blocks from the residential area to the shopping district wasn't too bad a commute. He opened up his shop, lifting the gate and unlocking the door. He stopped to flip over the sign to open before heading inside. Jean had left some charms soaking overnight and they needed to be drained and dried. 

Whistling to himself, he went on into the back and did so, hanging them on a rack that was placed over the sink to let the remains of their soak drip out. It dripped into the sink, looking a sickening brownish green that reminded him of swamp water. The bell in the front rang, shortly followed by a voice shouting 'Hey boss'. Connie was here which meant he could leave the store to him to restock while he went by Marco's. 

 

Once Connie had instructions, he took his temporary leave to walk across the shopping district. It was fairly mild out this morning, a good break from the summer heat. August was always the worst and most humid month of the year. It was like living inside Satan's damp, smelly asshole. Weather aside, Jean wouldn't want to live anywhere else in the world. 

The calm of the morning gave him time to think. Think about work and bills and Marco. The freckled dork had been on his mind far more than he cared to admit this last month. Sure, he spent a hell of a lot of time with him...and went to him for help quite a bit but, what did it even mean? They were friends sort of, but did it mean more? 

He sure as hell hadn't imagined that he'd jacked off thinking of the brunette the other night, that had most certainly happened but was it just infatuation? To be perfectly honest, Marco was pretty damn hot and definitely wank material. Jean had spent a good while with his own hand around his cock, rubbing a few out with thoughts of Marco's lips around him instead of is hand in his head. 

 

Lost in his own thoughts, he nearly got run over on the cross walk, some old lady who could barely see behind the wheel of the car. He flipped her off and went on his way, rather than making a huge scene. He didn't have time for that this morning, not hungover as he was. 

Rounding the last corner and making it to the door, Jean was glad to see the store was already open for the day, so he didn't have to wait outside for Marco to come down from his apartment. Strolling in with his usual shit eating grin, he didn't bother explaining as he took his shirt off, baring himself right in the storefront. Thalia came to inspect the shirt hanging from his hand, which she soon wrestled away. 

Marco gaped at him like he'd lost his mind, but only for a moment. “Go lay down. I'll be right with you.” He said as he covered the speaker of that awful pink cord phone. The 80's called and they want their phone back.

Giving a mock salute, the blond went into the back room where Marco had recently put in a cot like high school nurse's offices had, since he was taking more patients here at the shop. He laid down on his back, the burn on his stomach looking worse than he remembered it being. Some skin was pealing and it looked like it was starting to form a blister. This was not going to be pleasant, he decided. 

Soon enough, Marco came into the back and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out various things. Alcohol wipes, a long, thin needle, a jar of probably burn salve, and a bottle of tea tree oil. Jean hated the smell of it but it sure helped keep things from getting infected. It didn't sting like antiseptic either, which pleased him just fine. 

“Why didn't you come by sooner, Jean? This looks like shit.” The brunette huffed as he put on latex gloves. He opened the alcohol pad and swabbed the needle thoroughly, tossing the used wipe into the trash on his way over. He sat in the stool beside the cot, taking a good look at the burn and blisters, which only made him frown, somewhere between concerned and exasperated. 

Jean relaxed, knowing he was in good hands. “I was kind of drunk so I didn't think you'd appreciate me showing up unwashed and smelling like a bar.” He watched as the needle was pressed into the blisters with one hand, and the other pressed out the fluid inside, making it run all across Jean's abdomen. It reminded him of when he'd gotten the y-incision tattoo and he'd bled pretty bad, the same warm, slightly sticky feeling. 

Even through the gloves, Marco's fingers felt warm and gentle against Jean's skin, and he found himself looking away in his own embarrassment, at the fact he had been thinking of what those hands would feel like on his dick just a few nights ago. 

Marco cleaned up the fluid with a paper towel and began applying tea tree oil and burn salve where it was needed, his face showing his concentration. Briefly, he got up to put things away, coming back with gauze and medical tape. “Jean, you could've come to me high off cocaine and I would've helped you.” He said as he dressed the injury. 

The latex snapped as the brunette pulled the gloves off and put them in the trash along with the used needle. “You look hungover and dehydrated. You're not leaving until I know for sure you have real fluids in your system and for the billionth time, Monster doesn't count.” Giving Jean's leg a pat, he got up to go brew some tea and get some water. The tiny kitchen, if one could really call it that, was across from the work room. 

It was honestly just a small, granite topped shelving unit with an electric kettle and a microwave sitting on it, tea and food crammed into the shelves and a thin mini fridge beside it. It wasn't used for actual cooking, just heating up lunch when Marco was working and didn't have time to get a real meal. It did its job though and that's all he cared about. 

 

A cup of tea and two bottles of water later, Marco was finishing bagging a customer's purchases while Jean sat behind the counter, his shirt back on and Thalia purring away in his lap. It was only now he looked at the time and groaned. Oh yeah, he actually had to go do his own work today. Reluctantly, he shooed the fluffy cat away and got up. “I have to head out, got shit to do, people to curse, the bidding of the Dark Lord Satan to see to.” 

Marco rolled his eyes at the tasteless joke but smiled anyway. “Alright, don't wander into any churches. I don't need you bursting into flames on me.” He replied, face scrunching up as his cat, who had suddenly jumped onto the counter, squished her face into his as best she could. 

Jean tsked and patted Marco none too gently on the ass. “You're the flaming one between us, Doc. I mean come on, pastel purple skinny jeans? For fuck's sake, hang a rainbow flag around your neck why dont'cha?” Marco didn't even have time to give more than an indignant yelp before the blond was gone, leaving Marco standing there flushed and gaping, easily getting a mouthful of cat hair. 

With a sleazy grin on his face, Jean whistled all the way back to his shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to come out forever ago and it didn't so to make up for it, here's some bonus content about the White and Black universe and characters.
> 
> Marco has a tattoo, the Triple Goddess symbol between his shoulder blades. It's dark green in color and made up of vines and leaves and what not. 
> 
> Connie doesn't practice magic of any kind, but he's a friend of Jean's and when he needed a part time job, Jean figured he could use a cashier. He got the job just because Jean is actually a big softie. 
> 
> Jean has had Circe since high school and even if the reptile annoys him sometimes he loves that snake and gets caught babytalking to it a lot. 
> 
> Ymir has a degree in IT which is why she's often out of work. Small towns don't have a lot of IT jobs. 
> 
> Armin drives a vintage VW bug, that Eren has to fix on a normal basis. 
> 
> There. Enough bonus content for now. I love you all and there will never be a gap between chapters like that again.


	5. Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moon  
> noun  
> 1\. the earth's natural satellite, orbiting the earth at a mean distance of 238,857 miles (384,393 km) and having a diameter of 2160 miles (3476 km).  
> 2\. this body during a particular lunar month, or during a certain period of time, or at a certain point of time, regarded as a distinct object or entity. Compare full moon, half-moon, new moon, waning moon, waxing moon.  
> 3\. a lunar month, or, in general, a month.  
> 4\. any planetary satellite: the moons of Jupiter.  
> 5\. something shaped like an orb or a crescent.
> 
> verb (used without object)  
> 10\. to sentimentalize or remember nostalgically: He spent the day mooning about his lost love.  
> 11\. to gaze dreamily or sentimentally at something or someone: They sat there mooning into each other's eyes.

Sunday was one of Marco's busier days at the shop, mostly because the local pagans seemed to use Sunday morning as time to run their errands in town while everyone else was at church and get home before the post-church lunch and errand rush happened. He didn't blame them one bit since he always had to clean out the plethora of church and bible study pamphlets from his mail box later in the evening. Some people even had the gaul to come in and ask if he would put their pamphlets on the counter or church fliers in the windows. 

He didn't blame them either and didn't turn them down, simply reminded them that the people who came to this shop likely weren't looking for a church or God. Small, southern towns took religion too seriously. There were still people who talked about the fact his parents stopped going to church back in the 70's for fuck's sake. 

Another thing about Sunday, was that it seemed to be the day of the week that Jean had the least door traffic which often resulted in him calling Sacred Grove via the store line and annoying Marco or telling him about people trying to bring him the word of God. It was usually after the sixth or seventh call that Marco showed his displeasure with the interruptions. Like now, for example. 

Marco had just finished ringing up a customer and still had people in the shop with things to be purchased in their hands when the phone rang, the cheap plastic rattling a bit. Huffing, he picked it up, turning into the doorway of the back room to keep the call sort of private. “Jean, I swear to Goddess, if you don't stop calling until after my lunch break I'll find a cactus and shove it up your-OH! Mikasa I am so sorry!” 

A soft snort of amusement came from the other end. Mikasa was a calm, dignified woman. That was the only way to accurately describe her in the brunette's opinion. She took things in stride and with patience, like any good priestess would. That's why she was the High Priestess of their Coven, because she had the skills for it, not just in magic but in how she handled people. “It's alright, Marco. I just wanted to know if you were still coming tonight.” She said. 

Coming for what? Looking at his calendar, Marco smacked his palm against his face. Right. Full Moon Rite tonight. “Of course I'll be there. I just might be a little late. If anything, I'll just miss dinner.” He replied. 

Mikasa gave a hum of disapproval. “Marco, it's Sunday. It won't hurt for you to close early, leave some things to finish tomorrow, and come over for dinner. You work far too much and it worries me because you're going to get sick if you keep working yourself to the bone.” she said, firm as always but still concerned. 

Marco sighed, running fingers through his hair a bit. He really could use a break but it was so hard to find time, especially when he didn't have anybody else to run the shop when he wanted some downtime. Maybe he needed to put a help wanted sign up, get some high schooler to man the counter. Mikasa had every right to be concerned, as his High Priestess, she was family and obliged to look out for his well being. 

“Just this once, okay? It's been really busy this summer. It'll be busy in the coming months with Samhain coming up too and you know it.” He said, glancing to see a line was beginning to form at the check out counter. “Shit, I have to go. I have customers waiting. I'll see you tonight, Mikasa.” 

The brunette hung up before the woman could coax him any further into taking a break and went to attend to his patrons. 

 

Work was long but productive, with a good amount of sales made and plenty of things prepared to be put on sale in between helping people find what they needed. Marco did note he needed to put in a few orders but they could wait until tomorrow. He had actually followed through with closing early and had shrugged on some old jeans and a peasant shirt before leaving, only bothering with sandals on his feet. 

Since it was going to be at Mikasa's house, he didn't bother bringing his wallet or anything besides his Book of Shadows and an offering for the Goddess of his own. There would be plenty of food and alcohol so he didn't need to bring either and he'd get scolded by the motherly woman for thinking he wasn't welcome to absolutely anything in her house. 

The drive itself was peaceful, and relatively short since there was no traffic out right now, at least on the back roads he had to take to get there. Mikasa didn't even have a paved driveway, just gravel that needed touched up in some places. Cars were already filling up the space so he made an effort to park to the side some to save room. The vintage VW bug told him that Armin and Eren were already there and the black pick-up truck was Levi's. 

Getting out, he went inside, not needing to knock since the door was usually left unlocked on nights like this, when a lot of people would be coming in and it would get tedious to keep having to send someone to the door. 

Everybody was in the kitchen, standing around the kitchen island with drinks in hand. Mikasa smiled, clearly pleased that he had done as asked and quit work early. “Merry meet.” She greeted, as she poured herself another glass of ice tea. It was far too hot out for regular tea after all and he'd never known the woman to drink alcohol. 

Christa came forward and hugged him, smiling the warm and gentle way she always did. Marco returned the hug, lifting her up a bit. “I missed you. Armin doesn't know anything about healing and I had nobody to complain to about work without having to explain everything.” He said. 

The petite woman laughed softly. “I was only gone for three weeks. It couldn't have been that bad.” 

Of course, Armin snorted and set down his drink. “He's been working himself to death, I'm surprised he showed up with any energy left in him. You should run his shop so he can go to the beach for a while. If he keeps this up, he's going to be the one needing a healer.” 

Teasing aside, Marco knew his friends just worried about him and wanted him to take better care of himself. Even Levi who had been silently sipping what was probably scotch the entire time. The older man gave him a pointed look, holding his glass, swirling the dark amber liquid around in it. “Don't drop dead on us. You're more tolerable than Eren.” 

“Excuse you, asshole. I'm incredibly tolerable. How do you think Armin lives with me?” Eren had nearly slammed his beer bottle down, making his sister wince in sympathy for her counter tops. This wouldn't have been the first time Eren cracked them in his over enthusiastic responses. 

“By the smell of his drink, a fair amount of alcohol.” 

“Are you trying to imply something?” 

“I don't need to imply anything, Jaeger.” 

“I'm your student, you should be nicer to me!” 

“If I was nice, you'd never learn a damn thing.” 

The clatter of a baking pan hitting the counter broke up what most likely would've been a fight. Mikasa had taken the pizza out of the oven, a forced smile on her face. “Dinner is ready.” She said, with a finality that shut Eren right up. He just took a paper plate from the stack on the kitchen island and waited patiently for some of the pizza. 

Levi checked his phone, conceding to Mikasa's authority as High Priestess of this coven. Even if he wasn't part of it, and was a High priest of his own coven when he was younger, he respected the young woman both as a fellow witch, and his best student. 

Once everybody had pizza, they sat at the table like adults, even if it was a little cramped with all of them there. Mikasa and Christa were housemates so they didn't exactly have a large house, but it was enough for two women and four cats. Speaking of cats, the lazy things were milling about, laying at people's feet or under chairs in hopes of being petted or getting table scraps. No such luck since pizza is bad for kitties. 

They talked about work, in turns. 

The auto shop was good and Eren hadn't started any fights with his coworkers this month. Levi's tattoo shop was doing great even if one of his employees was taking off for maternity leave soon (Hanji and Petra were going to be great parents). Police department was it's usual, full of missing persons, drug related arrests and petty thefts to sort through, at least being on patrol kept Mikasa from being bored out of her mind. 

Christa was overwhelmingly excited to meet her new kindergarten class in just a few weeks. Armin wanted to quit the library since they were getting more and more conservative about what they put on the shelves but him and Eren couldn't afford for him to be unemployed right now. 

So all in all it was nothing out of the ordinary, as far as their lives there concerned. Small towns were slow and even in places that should've been interesting, it was still horrendously stagnant. 

 

When dinner ended, they all helped clean up the kitchen and throw the trash out before they went outside to the backyard. It was huge since the house was out in the farmlands. No other houses were around visible for the trees that separated the properties, leaving the coven with privacy. 

In the middle of the backyard sat a large fire pit, with smoothed out and flattened logs to sit around. A small stone table sat in front of one, as an altar for when they had coven meetings. It was empty now but soon Mikasa would have it filled up for the circle they would make. 

Levi started getting the fire going, making Eren help him get the firewood from the pile beside the house and getting it underway. It was warm out during sunset but once the sun went down entirely, it would be pleasant around the fire. 

Marco lent Mikasa a hand with the altar, helping her unpack the small basket she'd put together of things for the altar. She put the chalice in the center, while Marco began to put smooth stones around it in a circle. He arranged them so they correlated with the way the elements were arranged around a pentagram. 

“You know Marco, if Jean is stressing you out this much, maybe you need to tell him you need some space. You've spent almost all your free time with him since May.” Mikasa put the athme down on the table, giving Marco a definite look of concern. There was no way he could lie to her. She'd would know and pull the truth out of him somehow. She always did, after all. 

Setting the last of the stones down, Marco sighed. “He's not...Stressing me, I guess. He's just not good with boundaries. I don't think he means to, I mean, he's actually really great when you get to know him. He's so sweet, Mikasa.” He replied, smiling a bit sheepishly at the priestess. He wasn't calling whatever it was about Jean that made him smile a crush yet. It was just too soon. 

Tucking a piece of hair behind her pierced ear, Mikasa just clicked her tongue and finished setting up the altar in silence. It didn't mean Mikasa felt that the brunette had proved his point, only that she was done talking about it for the time being. She'd bring it up again when she felt he needed to think about it more. 

The altar was set up soon and Levi had gotten the fire going, with minimal help from Eren since he couldn't light a fire to save his own life. Boy Scouts hadn't really done him any good, it turned out. With the sun now set, the coven took their shoes off to be closer with the earth and Levi ended up taking off his shirt because he was too warm apparently, leaving him in his binder. 

Tonight wasn't anything big, just a little something to cleanse themselves and renew themselves as the moon would renew. Mikasa passed around paper and a pen to have everybody write something they would like to work on about themselves or change in themselves. She ripped the piece into strips and dumped it in the chalice when it got back to her. 

The joined hands around the fire pit, Christa giving Marco's a gentle squeeze. “You're tense. Are you alright?” She asked, her voice soft but concerned. 

Marco just nodded. “I'm fine. Don't worry. Work is just stressful lately.” The answer seemed to satisfy her since she said no more as Mikasa made the circle. 

A short prayer of thanks was said before they dropped their hands. The circle was there though, and Marco could feel the energy of everyone in the coven, from Levi's strong energy that felt like a gail force wind, to Armin's lighter energy that reminded him of a misty morning. 

Mikasa picked up the chalice and emptied it over the fire, the papers burning and turning to ash, taking the things they wished to rid of themselves of with them. 

Eventually Mikasa leading prayer and helping them all to channel their energy to help bring some rain to end the current dry spell turned into them saying their individual prayers. It was quiet, aside from the sounds of the forest just behind them and the crackle of the fire. 

It was peaceful. 

When the circle was cut and the fire was put out, they ventured back inside and soon parted ways, 'Merry part' being shouted down the drive as cars pulled out and drove down the road, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a double update but i have a headcold and i'm trying to get shit sorted out for the coming school year so here's ch. 5 for now.


	6. Tar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tar  
> noun  
> 1\. any of various dark-colored viscid products obtained by the destructive distillation of certain organic substances, as coal or wood.  
> 2\. coal-tar pitch.  
> 3\. smoke solids or components: cigarette tar.

Five in the morning sucked. Five in the morning in Virginia in mid-July sucked more. It was dark out and already the humidity was awful, even though the temperature somewhere in the mid seventies, at such an early hour.

Yet Jean was still awake, cigarette between cracked, bloody knuckles, a duffle bag in the other hand. Dressed in only an old Misfits tank top and some denims that needed washed like an addict needed rehab, he was already sweating, bangs matting to his forehead as he walked through the graveyard.

He didn't need much, just soil from around the graves. Unfortunately for him, it made it more potent when it was collected at dawn. Black magic is a nocturnal beast after all, feeding off the fear that comes when darkness settles and the energy that comes from decay.

Jean headed into the back of the graveyard, where the old, historical markers stood in varying states of ruin. Time and lack of upkeep had left many of them unreadable or almost completely destroyed. Part of him felt bad for the dead who were now forgotten, the lack of love showing from the state of the burial plots. So now, he always brought flowers for the graves he took soil from, to thank them for lending their body to the earth so it would become rich with human decay.

Putting out his cigarette against his thigh, he opened up the duffle bag and traded the butt for a small trowel and a couple of jars. He got on his knees between two graves and set to work, digging up a thin but wide layer. He never dug too deep, not wanting to disturb the dead more than he already was. When the jars were full, he put flowers on the graves, murmuring a prayer for them. Even as he held his rosary between his hands, it felt cold.

He didn't dawdle with his work, because this cemetery was classed as private property and the local police started making their rounds at seven. He really didn't want another addition to his arrest record. Especially not for trespassing again. Small town cops never let shit go.

When the blond had about six jars of soil, and the last of the flowers were passed out between even the graves he didn't take from. He made his last prayers for the dead quick, ignoring the way those rustling sounds from all around seemed to get louder as he left. There was no wind today and he was certain that mausoleum door hadn't been open a crack when he arrived. Definitely time to leave.

A hop over the fence and into his truck had Jean on the road. He lit up another cigarette, even as he gave a nasty, rattling cough. It was just a cold, he told himself. Only a cold.

 

Jean drove on back to his store, letting himself in despite the fact he wouldn't open shop for another four hours. He was going to get some work done and maybe see if his stomach would let him handle more than just a few cups of coffee.

He sorted out the soil into smaller jars, measuring carefully and labeling them afterwards. Graveyard soil was good for plants used in black magic, like hemlock and mandrake, which he only sold as already dried. Connie once asked why he went to the trouble of gathering actual graveyard soil at the crack of dawn instead of just digging some regular old dirt out of the lot behind his store at any time.

“I'm an asshole, Connie. Not a scam artist.” That's what he had said. For all the shitty things he did, at least he wasn't a liar. It was his only virtue.

Once the jars of graveyard dirt were stocked onto the shelves, Jean decided it was time for something to eat. His stomach finally seemed to get the idea that it wanted food, and it would be good to eat before six in the evening. He shuffled into the small back room and opened a cabinet where he kept some snack food. Looks like cup noodles it was.

He heated up some water in the electric kettle, leaning against the wall while it boiled. He felt so tired but at the same time, like he was restless, almost jittery even. Maybe it was lack of proper nutrition? Or even proper sleep? He doubted his small injuries were injected enough to make him that sick, as far as he knew anyway. The blond didn't really know much about what infections did to the body.

The kettle whistled and he poured the water into the styrofoam cup, swearing when hot water splashed onto his fingers. He set the kettle down and ran cool water over the scalded digits, thankful it was only minor this time. His last burn had taken forever to heal, even with the help Marco had given him, especially with cleaning it and healing it with some damn good burn salve. 

Oh Marco. He had it bad for him. It was impossible to deny anymore, especially since he'd been jacking off to thoughts of the healer more than anything else lately. He couldn't help it though, Marco was...Fuck were there even words to describe him? A little disorganized, sweet, strong, and Gods, was he beautiful.

For now though, gooey thoughts could wait until he had food in his stomach. Jean practically inhaled his noodles, drinking down the broth even though it burned slightly on his way down his throat. Ok, glucose and electrolytes replaced, time to attempt being a functional adult.

Pfft. Yeah right.

 

Jean went about his usual routine of getting the store ready for the day, checking business emails and more or less loafing on the floor behind the counter. Around the time Marco's shop opened up though, he still had time to kill before he opened up The Dungeon. He most certainly didn't regret naming his business that, even if he got lots of calls asking if he sold sex toys.

He pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and dialed in the number for Sacred Grove, grinning stupidly to himself when Marco picked up.

Graciously, he cut Marco off mid sales pitch, since he wasn't calling for business.

“It's too early to be hot as balls. I'm thinkin' I'm going to go shirtless today.” Jean stated, sinking further onto the floor until he was laying down.

Marco chuckled softly, sounding both amused and exasperated. “Well I'm sure your bruised, burned and pale as death physique will just have the ladies fighting their way in the door.”

Oh that little...

“Ladies love the dead look these days, apparently. All that vampire shit out there, you know? I'm way fucking hotter than Edward Cullen. His face looks like he's got the shits and can't find a bathroom.”

That really made Marco laugh, and there was no better sound in the world than that. Gods damn did he have it bad.

Jean ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing when he found it greasy and sweaty. He needed a shower. Hopefully he'd remember before he passed out later tonight.

When Marco calmed himself, no longer laughing or gasping for breath, he cleared his throat. “Well was there something you needed? If it's an emergency, I'm going to have to call you an ambulance.” The soft rustling told Jean that Thalia was rubbing against the phone, probably purring up a storm like she liked to do.

“No, no, I'm fine. Besides, dead guys can't get hurt. They only break hearts and drink blood from people in a way that makes it borderline pornographic.” Even he was grinning at his own joke, because it was fucking dumb but, it made that gorgeous, freckled man laugh and he could just picture his smile, the way his eyes creased and his dimples showed.

He almost wanted to smash himself in the head with something because a fucking phone call shouldn't have his stomach making knots like that. Or it could've been the spicy ramen was disagreeing with him. That was also a very likely possibility.

Jean didn't know which he'd prefer, disgustingly mushy feelings or gastrointestinal distress in the form of diarrhea.

“Well, with the right person, doesn't it usually turn out to be actual porn?” Marco was holding back giggles and it made his words catch and fuck it was so cute.

Okay, decision made, he'd prefer the diarrhea.

But as always, Jean's mouth got away from him and the filter between his brain and mouth malfunctioned. “It'd be hard to make that sex tape though, since vampires don't show up on camera. But if we're talking about zombies, that's taking it a little too far,. I mean, I think with supernatural beings it counts as necrophilia once the other guy starts to enter decomp. I mean, let's not even get into consent laws because I'm pretty sure zombies don't have enough brain power to make that call.”

The awkward, half disgusted, half morbidly amused sound that came from Marco was definitely worth it. It wasn't a laugh, wasn't a choke, and it wasn't a groan. Just a stupid fucking sound. Sounded like a cat trying to say shit.

It was Jean's turn to lose it and by the time he'd calmed down, Marco had peeled into giggles and from how muffled they sounded, Thalia probably had her fuzzy face smooshed into her owner's. Gods he loved that dorky cat too.

“Jean, there's something seriously messed up in your head. Where did that even come from? Fuck, man.” Oh, no more muffled-ness. Thalia must've been removed from the counter.

Still, the blond was grinning, laying on the dirty floor of his shop, in the fucking dark at 7:45 in the morning, and he was laughing his goddamn ass off with this other fucking weirdo over the phone, like he did this every Gods damn day.

“But you wouldn't have me any other way.” He stated it like it was a fact, like it was the fucking gospel truth that Marco wouldn't want him to change, because he sure fucking hoped he didn't.

Marco gave a gentle sigh. “Of course, Jean,” he said, before the small ringing of a bell in the background sounded. “Well, I've got to go. I have a customer. I'll talk to you later.”

Jean groaned up he'd be damned if he'd beg for Marco to keep talking to him. “Alright. Later, man.”

The phone clicked, signaling that the other man had hung up. For a while, Jean just laid there on the floor, basking the cool of the tile and the darkness before hauling his shabby ass up. He dusted himself off and stripped from his shirt. It was just too hot today, even with how skinny he was. The cold sweat he was having should've been a clue not all was well, but he fucking ignored it in favor of tossing his Misfits shirt into a cubby under the counter.

He still had work to do, which included infusing some charms with blood and maybe double checking his injured hand to see if it had gotten worse.

 

The day dragged on, with some pointless texts sent to Marco when things got slow. Eventually Jean closed up shop and sent Connie home with a pay check, before getting into his car and sighing. He'd put his shirt back on before getting into the ancient Lincoln town car, since the leather would be hot enough to burn skin after sitting in the heat all day.

It was an old car, from 1994 to be honest, and it still ran by the grace of the Gods. It had row seats, a turn crank for the windows, a shitty old radio that still played cassettes and a trunk big enough to hide bodies in. Her name was Missy.

After lighting a cigarette, Jean put the key in the ignition and turned it. No luck. He turned it again, muttering to himself. “Listen up, Missy. I gotta get my ass home and feed a dumb reptile so you better fucking start. Today is not the day to crap out on me.”

Third time was the charm, but it finally started.

Jean couldn't be assed to replace the old car, since it used to be his dad's, rest his soul. He remembered sleeping in the back seat on family trips, old tapes of the Beatles playing on the radio. He still had those tapes even, putting them on now and then.

The drive home was quiet, like any Sunday evening since everybody in town was sitting down for family dinner or at their church's pot luck supper. It made for no traffic and nobody to give a shit if he was speeding.

Ymir wasn't in when Jean got into the apartment, meaning she'd probably gone to the social services building to sit in the unemployment office and try to get her unemployment checks again. At least it would buffer rent and utilities, even if only a little. He tried not to ask too much of her when she was between jobs, especially since she had medications to pay for.

Sighing, he got some left over Chinese takeout and stuffed it, cardboard carton and all, into the microwave. He set it to nuke a bit while he went to check on Circe.

The reptile was sleeping like a lump in the warmth of his heat lamp, but soon as Jean got face level with him, he seemed to perk up, the snake lifting his head and bumping his nose softly against the glass. Definitely hungry.

So of course, once his own food was warmed up, the blond got a frozen mouse out of the freezer and stuck it in an old mug, that had a piece of duct tape around it, the words “mouse cup” crudely written in sharpie. After adding some water, into the microwave it went.

The heating process was long enough for Jean to scarf down at least have the left over, greasy lo mien noodles he'd gotten himself. He wasn't much on the taste but it was food and he would just wash it down with a beer later.

After draining out the water, the blond took the mouse into his room and grabbed the tongs sitting atop of Circe's vivarium. Grasping the dead rodent with them, he opened the top of the tank and lowered Circe's dinner in, wiggling it a bit.

It only took one strike for Circe to get the mouth, which he took his time eating whole. Jean finished his own dinner and dumped the empty white carton in the trash. Of course, the stupid snake wanted another mouse to which his owner obliged, since he'd be stared at all fucking night if he didn't. Having a snake stare at him when he was trying to sleep or wank was not of his favorite things.

After Circe struck and got hold of the second rodent, Jean shut the vivarium and made sure it was secure before stripping off his shirt and getting that beer.

Looking in the fridge, he swore before getting a Corona. “Dammit, Ymir. Leave my damn Heineken alone.” She could either stop buying shitty beer and pitch in for Heineken or stop taking his beer. He'd had that talk with her before and thought they'd reached an understanding. Guess not.

He finally kicked off his boots and made himself comfortable on the couch, flipping on the TV. Without cable, not much good was on except the one channel that played a lot of weird documentaries. So he flipped to that and relaxed. He wasn't giving the screen his full attention but it was comfortable noise in the background, which let the tension in his body release as he sank further into the squishy old couch that needed new cushions.

Polishing off his beer, Jean set the bottle on the floor, too lazy to reach for the coffee table. He let himself lay down fully, with a stretch and a groan. The narrator continue to drone on about deadly animals in Australia as his eyelids got heavier and heavier. He didn't get to find out what the effects of Rock Fish poison were before he was out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, in all it's homosexual glory. Don't get too cozy yet because Jean is still an idiot. Also, Jean's car is based off of a real car that belongs to a friend of mine. It's a lovely vehicle and I enjoy riding shot gun in it with Avenge Sevenfold blaring at us.
> 
> In other news, I've been thinking of doing a meet the author livestream so if you guys really want me to do that, let me know and I'll find a time/date that would work best. Cheers.


	7. Off White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off-white
> 
> noun
> 
> a white color with a gray or yellowish tinge.  
> "a frilly off-white blouse"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend listening to Come With Me Now by Kongos while you read this chapter.

This morning was way too hot for early September, muggy with humidity. The fan didn't even seem to be able to stir the air around enough for Marco to cool off, even as he lay almost naked, all the covers piled at the end of the bed. Trost was too close to the coast and too close to swamps for it to be anything but miserable before real fall weather set in. 

A knocking at his window caught his attention, forcing him up and out of bed to find out the source of the noise. It was probably squirrels or nature fae but it was still worth a look, in case anything was broken. Just as he came to the window, a small rock hit it. Frowning, Marco opened the window and looked out. “Jean? What're you doing here? It's three in the morning.” He called, trying not to be too loud this time of night. 

Jean just grinned like a maniac and motioned his hand toward the door. Sighing, the freckled man shut the window and left his room, soon unlocking and opening the door. Jean was already on the lofted porch. 

“I just...I just really needed to see you.” He said, something almost soft about his expression. 

This made Marco frown in worry. “Are you hurt again? If its an emergency shouldn't you have gone to the hospital?” He ushered him inside though, shutting the door to keep the cicadas out. They were too noisy for his taste. 

Before Marco could ask just what on earth Jean needed, he was pressed against the wall by the blond's surprisingly sturdy body, lips slotting against his own. They didn't stay there long though, as pale, bony hands traveled into the waist band on Marco's boxers. 

“J-Jean!” He wasn't protesting though, oh no. The brunette pressed into the hand as teeth found his ear. 

Only, those teeth weren't Jean's. They were needle like and...small...

Jean wasn't there. 

Thalia was however, hungry and demanding her breakfast, and had resorted to chewing upon her owner's ear to rouse him from sleep. 

Marco cursed as he became fully conscious, already feeling the tent in his boxers. He was sweaty all over and Thalia being so fluffy didn't help at all. “I can't even sleep through a wet dream with you around, can I?” 

Reluctantly he got out of bed, cat trailing at his heels and put down her bowl of wet food before going to shower. He kept the water a bit on the cool side, to get some relief from the heat. It also took care of his morning wood, that he didn't have the energy to deal with right now. He needed some coffee before work, that was for sure. 

For the moment though, he could relax in the shower. Marco rinsed the shampoo from his hair and took a few deep breaths, finding comfortable relief in the cool water running over his body. 

Sudden scratching and loud meowing at the bathroom door broke him from his moment of peace. 

“Go away, Thalia! Bad kitty!” 

 

Sadly, a shower and coffee didn't seem to clear his mind as much as Marco had hoped. He spent all day spaced out, thoughts of Jean taking the forefront and customers taking the backseat. The vivid memory of his dream didn't help at all, only fueling the fire. 

Jean was bad news though, there was definitely a Taylor Swift song about guys like him. He was so reckless and rough and attractive and-woah there, that wasn't where he was trying to go with this. Sure, Marco was gay but, that boy wasn't the kind he could bring home to his parents. His nosy, overly friendly parents who'd want him around every time their son came for family dinner. 

No, Jean was...Jean wasn't even a diamond in the rough, he was a geode. Ugly, rough, and sealed away on the outside but once he opened up, Goddess above was he amazing on the inside. Not beautiful, no, that wasn't the right word. 

Jean wasn't beautiful. 

He looked like hell, so many bruises and scars, those dark circles around his eyes, the way his ribs showed under his skin, the broken capillary in his left eye. He was most definitely amazing despite his scabbed knuckles and the yellowy paleness of his skin, because even if he looked like death put in a bad office microwave, he held it together so well. 

The freckled man had been so spaced out, he didn't hear the phone until the third ring which he dashed to pick up. “Hello-Oh! Hi Jean.” 

The warm, smoke roughened voice chuckled on the other side. “Hey so, my house mate is going to be gone tonight, started working a night shift. Was wondering if you wanna go to this hole in wall I know? Food's the same homestyle shit you can find anywhere, but the booze and the music are good.” 

Did Jean just...ask him to go somewhere with him?

Despite the time they spent together, they never went out anywhere. Usually they sat around in the brunette's store or his apartment above it but going out to do something? That was way out of the norm.

Marco didn't close his hanging jaw until he got a mouthful of cat tail, which made him sputter and spit out hairs. “S-sorry, Thal was in my face. Sure, sounds great. I'm closing up at four today. See you then?” 

“Sure. I'll pick you up then. You can stay at my place. I don't want you trying to get up those rickety ass stairs when you're hammered.” Noise in the background told him that Jean was at work, ignoring customers to make this call.

What was so important about going out that he was ignoring customers?

And he even wanted him to stay at his place?

He shook those thoughts right away, because first of all, Jean had never shown interest as more than a friend, and second, he probably thought him too much of a stick in the mud. 

Marco said his goodbyes, especially since a few customers seemed to be waiting for his help, and hung up the phone. 

The day was seeming to move even slower now, the warm early September heat not making things any better as he waited for the clock to say four. 

 

Eventually, the end of the work day came, which Marco greeted with much more enthusiasm than he ever remembered doing before. He closed up shop and headed upstairs into his apartment, his familiar at his heels. 

He didn't want to spend too long getting ready since this totally wasn't a date, but he wanted to look nice. Since he was going out. Of course. Not a date. 

Still, Marco changed into a clean pair of skinny jeans, faded ones that hugged just right and a The Cure t-shirt that was comfortable. A little deodorant, a little cologne, and a quick tooth brush before he put food out for his cat, who was beginning to claw at his legs for attention. 

He'd barely gotten the little metal food bowl on Thalia's mat before his doorbell began ringing repeatedly. Stuffing his keys and phone into his pocket, he headed to the door. He wasn't prepared for what he saw when he opened it. 

Jean had his usual sleazy grin but the white wife beater he wore actually fit him instead of being 3 sizes too big, and the black jeans he had looked clean, new even and fit so right. He was brushing his hair out off his forehead, a cigarette tucked behind his gauged ear. 

Marco's mouth went dry and for a moment, he stood there like an idiot. Damn did Jean look good tonight. Despite how skinny his middle was, the blond's arms were toned from heavy lifting, the tattoos on his right one seeming to highlight the muscle there. 

Of course, the moment ended when Jean snapped his fingers in the brunette's face. “Ey, anybody home? We getting trashed or not?” 

Stepping out, Marco shut the door behind him and locked it. “After you, since I have no idea where this place even is.” That was rare since he knew about almost everything in this town. It was so small and stagnant that it was hard not to. 

 

The bar, as it turned out, really was a hole in wall kind of place. It was in the basement of another store and was only open a few nights a week. It was cramped and noisy, smelling like sweat and spilled drinks with a haze of smoke all around. It was Jean's favorite bar in the whole town though. 

The got a table in a corner, ordering a few beers to start with while the garage band on stage played. They'd played here before and the blond liked them enough he was glad to see them back. He was pretty sure they were from the next county over and only played gigs here when they didn't have any choice. 

Their loss though, the crowd here liked 'em pretty good. The open guitar case was almost half full already and it was only a quarter to five. 

Marco seemed nervous, but man did he look fucking cute. The way those skinnies hugged his ass had Jean aching to touch it, feel if it was soft or firm, give it a smack or two maybe. He kept his hands to himself though, because it'd make him a douche not to. He didn't touch people without their consent. 

It was halfway through the song when their drinks came, the waitress smiling real sweet but neither of them had eyes for her. 

“So, what do you think?” 

Marco paused in drinking his beer. “Think of what?” 

“The bar! The fuck else would I be talking about?” 

The flush that lit up on Marco's cheeks was adorable. “It's nice. I like it so far.” 

He seemed to turn his attention to the band but Jean could see the way he was hiding his embarrassment. Whatever, it was cute. 

The blond drained half his beer, bottle end up, before he set it down. With a long, loud sigh, he slumped back in his seat to relax in full. The thrum of people, good music, a nice cold beer, and a fucking cutie to share it with. What more could he ask for? 

A lot of things but that was a laundry list for another day. 

Thankfully, the silence that settled was comfortable, as his companion relaxed and ended up much like Jean, totally slumped back in his chair to just let the tension out. It was one thing to be able to talk for hours, but it was another thing entirely to just sit in silence without it being weird. 

Course, with Jean, silence didn't last forever. Eventually, some crying girl caught his attention until whoever she was with got her to calm down and go back to dancing. 

She didn't seem to really be having fun though, like she still wanted to cry and let it all out but her friend was too uncomfortable with her emotional needs and didn't care enough to not be. Why not just let her be sad for a while? It's not going to hurt her. 

He was thinking too much about this and Marco looked like he had zoned out into his own world. 

“You know, sometimes,” the statement was punctuated by his hand smacking the table, rattling the bottles that were starting to overrun it. “I think it just feels better to be sad or pissed off and not forced to cheer up. Just, validated and not told to stop cause your feelings make other people uncomfortable.” He said, before downing the rest of his third or fourth beer. 

He was losing count.

Marco, to his credit, nodded in agreement. “It's healthier. Emotion is human, even the negative ones so pushing it aside because everybody assumes it feels better to be happy is ridiculous.” 

The blond nodded back, scooting his empty bottle around the table, fading back into silence. 

He perked back up though when the next song started up. He knew this song, a new spin on old Cajun music, and it was a damn good one to dance to. 

Grinning like mad, Jean got up and took hold of Marco's wrist. “Come on and dance with me. This is a good one.” 

The brunette spluttered and barely had time to set his beer down before he was hauled onto the dance floor. Quite a many other people had already gotten the idea to dance too. 

Jean was pretty sure he was flushed himself as he put a hand on Marco's waist and took his other hand in his own. “You know anything about zydeco?” He asked, as the people around him got into the swing of the music. 

“No, never heard of it.” Marco was looking around though, so see what this was all about. 

“It's Cajun, just follow. I'll lead.” 

It was fast and familiar to Jean. 

It reminded him of all the summers he'd spent with his dad in New Orleans until the man overdosed. It made him think of that old house he'd lived in then, and the neighbor who practiced voodoo magic. New Orleans was steeped in old magic after all, nearly none of it Celtic in origin. It was older than that, and it ran thick as blood down there. 

It had been what got him into black magic, got him practicing the way he did. 

It felt like clean air in his lungs. 

He told Marco that, as they danced, having to lean in real close for the other to hear him good. 

The dancing itself was a grand shit show, because Marco had no idea what he was doing and Jean wasn't sober enough to really dance well at the moment. It was fun though, just being close to the brunette and feeling his warmth and the way his energy felt like a sunny field that was just right for laying in. 

Even a bit drunk, Jean still knew the way the steps went, his feet moving right along to the music. Marco was far less graceful and seemed to just be letting the blond lead him around, eventually leaning into him. They were chest to chest and Jean had never felt so warm like he did now, with this freckled hottie's arm around his skinny torso snugly. 

About the time they got back to their table and Marco finished his last beer was about when they decided to leave. Jean paid, since he was the one who invited Marco out in the first place, assuring him it was fine. Ok, so he'd have to walk a little more this week instead of put gas in his car. No biggie. 

Outside was much cooler than inside the bar, and it sure as hell made the blond's nipples perk up under his tank. The barbells going through them pressed against the fabric just as much as his nipples did, and he wondered if Marco noticed. Probably not. 

It was September, he should've expected it to be cooler at night now and brought a jacket but the rational part of his brain clearly hadn't been working when he decided to take Marco out to a bar. 

 

Jean's place wasn't too far, and as he unlocked the door, Marco realized this was the first time he'd been over here.

“It's not much, but it's home.” A not so grand sweep of Jean's arm accompanied the statement as he walked inside, fumbling for a light switch. Alright, so the living room light was out but the kitchen light came on when he got to the switch. 

Politely, Marco took off his shoes and shut the door behind himself. “It's...Exactly what I expected. Homey, dark, and smells like cheap not real food.” 

Jean snorted and eventually shucked off his own boots. “Okay, listen sassy, I'm not the only one who lives here so you can take up the smell with her too. Well, if she was here. She's not.” 

The blond shuffled around the kitchen, while Marco got comfortable on the couch. It was a bit...saggy and musty smelling but, it wasn't any worse than the furniture he'd had in college himself. It dipped and squeaked when Jean sat down next to him, almost leaning against him. Truth be told, they'd both had maybe a beer or two too many. 

Jean fully leaned into him, his skin cold against the brunette's own. 

“Fuck, Jean, you're practically freezing.” He said, moving his arm as the other burrowed even more into his side. 

“Then how about you warm me up?” It sounded like a come on. 

Had he heard that right? Had Jean really meant for it to sound that way? Was he dreaming again?

The slight pain that came from an awkwardly angled kiss answered that for him. It wasn't awkward long, because it felt just fine once Marco turned his head, kissing back. The blond's lips were cool and chapped against his own, not unlike the texture of snakeskin, but it didn't bother him. 

Icy hands gripped Marco's hips, dragging him bodily into Jean's lap, his thighs parting to straddle him. He'd been right about how strong the other's arms were.

“Ah!” 

The kiss broke when cold fingers found their way under his shirt, giving him a start, and Jean was grinning at him. 

“S'okay?” He asked, slurring a bit. 

Marco could only nod dumbly before kissing him again, bringing his hand to cup the back of the blond's head. He tangled his fingers in the short hair, as a tongue slipped into his mouth. The inside of Jean's mouth wasn't as cold as the rest of him, thankfully, or he would start to think the man was cold blooded.

He tasted like cigarette ash and beer. 

The cold hands kept exploring his chest, moving to his back and eventually down out of his shirt to grip his ass, hard. 

Jean pulled away first this time, much to the brunette's dismay. He kissed along Marco's jaw, the metal of his snakebites smooth against his skin. His mouth found his ear, teeth nipping gently. 

“You're so fucking hot, Marco. Wanna kiss you, wanna touch you, wanna see what you look like when you come.” He whispered, all the while he was practically kneading Marco's ass with his hands, like he couldn't get enough of it. 

Marco was sure he was flushed and frazzled in the not really that cute way by now. Jean sounded so hot like that, when his smoke strained voice was so close to his ear. He still couldn't get his own mouth to work so he bit his lip instead of letting it hang open. He pressed back against the hands on his ass, spread his thighs a little wider over Jean's lap, trying to communicate his agreement without words. 

He was afraid if he said anything, it would stop like in his dream, and he'd wake up to Thalia using his butt as a pillow. 

This still wasn't a dream though. 

He knew it too, because he could feel the sting that came when Jean bit down on the skin beneath his ear, hard enough to leave a mark. 

It made him moan, eyes slipping closed as he began to explore the warlock's body by feel. Marco slid his own hand up the other's shirt, feeling each of Jean's ribs as he went up. It didn't surprise him when he found more piercings and couldn't help but tease the pierced nub a little, the barbell making it easier to twist. 

The groan that Jean made had been right near his ear and it was possibly the hottest thing Marco had heard. 

 

When Jean went to town on his neck though, it was the brunette's turn to moan and whimper for him, especially as they began grinding against each other. It felt so good, and Marco kept on playing with Jean's nipples since it spurred him on. 

But, as most people know, getting it up when drunk can be difficult. As good as they both felt, it was obvious after a while that neither was getting hard, only warm and a little sweaty. Marco wasn't disappointed though, because making out was just as nice as sex and a lot less messy. 

Somehow, they shifted so Jean could lay down, the brunette laying comfortably on top of him. They were too tired and drunk to make it to Jean's bedroom and here was just fine. 

“You sure got me good and warm, Doc.” 

“Go to sleep, turbo nerd.” 

Jean didn't come to until around five the next evening, not a bit surprised to find Marco was long gone, but kind enough to put a blanket over him, and a water and painkillers on the coffee table. There was a note but he'd read that later. He barely sat up after dry swallowing the pills before the room started spinning and his face felt wet. 

At first he thought it was the water but it was too fucking warm for that. He hadn't even touched the water. Shit. 

On unsteady legs, he shambled into the bathroom and turned on the sink, cupping water in his hands and splashing himself in the face to keep awake and as alert as he could be in his condition. He swore to himself as he tried to figure out where the hell he'd left his phone. Might be at the bar. Might be in Missy. 

Shit. 

Shit fuck dick and balls. 

The room kept spinning and the edges of his vision were getting funny so he headed for the kitchen. He got to the couch before he collapsed to his knees, stomach lurching with the movement. Oh he was royally fucked. 

It must've been the sound and possibly the smell of him vomiting on the living room floor that roused Ymir from her room. 

“Hey! Asswipe! I've got work in the-shit you really let yourself go to shit this time.” Her footsteps were loud and quick as she went and got the kitchen phone, dialing 911 he supposed. 

Jean heard Ymir talking but he couldn't understand her words, or why the floor was suddenly on his left. He saw his housemate's feet coming towards him rather quickly before his brain decided it was lights out. 

“Goddammit, Jean.”


	8. Hospital Sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheet  
> SHēt  
> noun  
> plural noun: sheets
> 
> 1\. a large rectangular piece of cotton or other fabric, used on a bed to cover the mattress and as a layer beneath blankets when these are used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAANNNNND WE'RE BACK FOLKS

Jean felt like he was underwater. Everything so far away and he was sure he was floating and moving against his will. It might’ve been almost soothing, if the movements around him didn't leave him disoriented and unsettled. Opening his eyes, he found himself in deep ocean, surrounded by creatures of nightmares, with teeth longer than his arms. 

They swam in circles around him, almost as if waiting to see if he was alive. The sun above was so bright that it penetrated the darkness of the water, so murky he was surprised he could see the creatures around him.

His body rose in the water, slowly at first, gaining speed the closer he got to the surface, faster and faster as the massive beasts lunged for him, gaping maws waiting to swallow him.

He awoke gasping for breath, sitting up only to fall back as a wave of dizziness hit him. He felt like death partly microwaved. The dizziness brought nausea but it settled soon enough, his senses coming into focus and shit, his throat felt raw. Like he'd swallowed battery acid or something.

Jean hadn't felt this awful since his father died and he'd went on a weekend bender.

A nurse came into the room and smiled politely before she helped Jean sit up comfortably and checked his vitals and his IV. He was too miserable to talk and the nurse seemed to understand that. She simply checked off his chart and got him some water. Thankfully, she had read his chart enough to know to get him a very large cup.

While he was washing the raw, burning feeling out of his throat, he got a look at his hospital bracelet, grimacing at the medical jargon. Internal hemorrhaging, ulcers, something something damage to stomach lining. Great. He'd probably been here for a few days at the very least.

Looking around, Jean found a folded piece of computer paper with a couple honey flavored cough drops taped to it sitting on his bedside table. Ymir had been to visit, and god bless her, she'd left something for how undoubtedly wrecked his throat was.

He finished his water before grabbing the note and opening it, popping a cough drop into his mouth as he read.

 

_Looks like you ingested painkillers your stomach couldn't handle._  
 _They put you in an induced coma for a couple days so you wouldn't barf your internal organs or mass amounts of blood out. When I came in today, they said you could go home when you woke up. Don't you ever fucking scare me like that again you piece of shit. We didn't do the program for you to be doing dumb shit like this. You better have a DAMN good explanation when you get back to the house._  
 _P.S. I cleaned up your vomit. You owe me booze._

 

Harsh as it was, it was nice to know his roommate cared. Especially enough to only make him owe her for cleaning up his bodily fluids and not for probably making her have to take a couple days of bed rest.

 

True to Ymir's word, once Jean got real food into his stomach and passed the doctor's questions about how he felt, they let him leave. He ended up taking the shuttle bus from Trost Memorial Hospital to town, before just walking the rest of the way home, mentally beating himself up the entire way.

How could he have been so stupid? Marco had no idea what kind of medications he could and couldn't take and he just took the pills without thinking. Jean had been doing so well, been so good about watching what he put into his system, only to end up in the hospital. 

 

Goddammit, he’d been _clean_ for fuck’s sake. 

He wiggled the loose brick out and grabbed the spare key, unlocking the door before putting it back. He'd forget if he took it inside and Ymir would bitch next time she left her keys.

The quiet of the apartment told Jean that his roommate wasn't home yet or was deeply asleep so he had time before he needed to explain his way out of being pelted with nerf bullets. That crazy woman's aim was getting better and better with a moving target.

First thing, he showered and checked on Circe, taking him out to handle him while he cleaned a few things around the living room. The python happily wrapped around his shoulders and went to sleep, calmed by his human's presence.

“You need to poop, you stupid noodle. I can't feed you again until you poop and I refuse to give in to your beady little baby eyes,” Jean muttered as he felt along the snake's body, trying to see how far along the reptile was in digesting it's last meal. Circe would poop soon, and he'd wake up to his room smelling rancid, probably.

Oh the joys of owning a snake.

When his cleaning was more or less finished, he put Circe back in his tank and made sure the temperature was set right before trying to pick back up where his life had left off.

 

Alright, so what happened in the last exciting episode of Jean Kirschtein’s Long List of Fuck Ups?

Marco. Drinking. Coming home. Getting to put his hands on Marco. Sleeping. Puke.

Frowning, the blond raked his fingers through his still damp hair, knowing he probably needed to actually call Marco and explain why he'd disappeared for a few days, why he hadn't called back the morning after.

He didn't regret doing that, not in the least. Sure, for all the time they spent together they still didn't know much about each other's lives but he was definitely interested in finding out more. Maybe even over a few drinks just on the shitty couch with Circe trying to smell all over Marco the whole time.

That would be perfect.

Okay, not perfect, but it's how he would want it to be.

Jean checked his phone and answered texts from clients and his mom before checking his voice mail. He had one from his mom saying Ymir told her what happened, to just let her know when he was back home, and one from his dear old Annie saying she was just checking in and letting him know she was alive. 

Plus, Connie had even been giving updates on the store until he got back, saying he was holding down fort just fine on his own for now.

Well at least there was SOME good news this morning.

A loud bang nipped the happy moment right in the bud. Ymir was awake and she looked madder than a wet cat. Without a word he got up off the couch and started getting getting the coffee pot ready while the brunette in Star Wars pj's downed a fistful of medication with some water. She grimaced but swallowed it all the same before easing into a kitchen chair.

“Alright shithead, y’have three minutes t’ explain what happen or ‘m callin’ Shadis t’ come pick your ass up,” she said, voice still groggy with either sleep or sleep medication. It made her Creole accent thicker than usual and if he wasn't so used to it, Jean would've never understood her. 

Heaving a sigh, Jean sat himself down across from her, trying to give an apologetic smile. “Look, I got drunk with a friend and we came back here, OK? We fooled around a little, went to sleep and he was gone for work when I woke up. He left the meds out for me. I dunno, I'm so fucking used to you putting out my baby aspirin for me that I didn't think before I took it. It wasn't a huge dose, only two.”

It was a little hurried and nervous but the glare he was getting from Sleeping Beast was actually terrifying.

It was also definitely rehearsed, having thought about how to avoid death by roommate on the way home.

Eventually Ymir just shook her head, flexing her stiff fingers along the tabletop. “I'm going t’ believe you this time. _Only this time._ Y’even dumber than usual when you just wake so I can see where you might've forgot that not everybody knows all your little secrets.”

The blond grinned, mostly in relief that he was being let off without foam darts to the face.

As much as his roommate and he didn't get along, they shared a mutual bond of keeping each other alive. Mostly through yelling and trying to out stubborn the other. It had worked quite well.

“But if it happens again, Shadis gonna be waitin' for your dumb ass at the hospital. No second chances Jean, I can't babysit you just because you're gonna let yourself get back into that shit, y’hear me?” Ymir didn't yell but her voice sure as hell projected. She got up and got a cup of coffee as if she didn't really need an answer.

She didn't. It wasn't an empty threat.

“Yeah and the neighbors can too, bitch. Now appreciate my masterful brewing skills of Walmart brand coffee,” he replied as he checked the time on his phone.

He should technically go into work but he trusted Connie to text him if he was needed. No doubt Ymir had had already told his shop assistant that he was still out of commission for a little while.

 

Across the shopping district, Marco was elbow deep in work, making a large batch of herbal infused oils. He had three pots simmering lightly on the stove of his work room, a different herb in each one. Ginseng, hyacinth and lavender filling the room with a sweet and floral aroma.

Thalia was circling his feet, thinking he was making something to eat and hoping for scraps to drop to the floor. He carefully pushed her away now and then so she wasn’t in danger of tripping him, not that it ever lasted for long.

Wiping his forehead with the back of his arm, Marco let out a huff. It was stiflingly hot in the back room despite the cooling temperatures outside. The stove was gas range and put off more heat than he liked it too sometimes. 

Still, the brunette stirred the pots carefully, making sure they never got too hot or the contents would burn and he’d have to start all over. 

The chiming of the door bells sent Thalia off to see what the noise was about, her tail puffing up in excitement. That at least got her out of the way.

“Hello! I’m in the back, but if you need anything just holler!” he called, as he grabbed a strainer and set it on top of an open glass jar. 

“Oh don’t worry yourself, honey! It’s just me!” a sweet voice replied. 

Marco poked his head out of the back room, smiling. “Hey Krista. Need more honey candies for your students?” The petite blonde nodded in reply. 

“And a few other things but don’t worry, just put it on my tab for now if you’re busy. I’ll pay it at the end of the month when my paycheck comes in,” she said, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear. 

As she walked around the shop, her long skirts swished around her feet as she filled her wicker basket. Marco left his coven sister to it while he began ladling one of the oils into a jar, the strainer catching plant matter. He would be using some of the oils in incense, candles, and whatnot so he wouldn't be selling all of it. 

He did need to jar what he was keeping for himself though or it would go bad easily. That’s the downside of highly organic ingredients. 

“Are you out of the patchouli incense I like?” Krista’s pretty face peaked into the back room, giving Marco a start. 

“Oh, yeah, they come in tomorrow. I can hold a box for you to pick up on your way from work,” he replied, as he put the lid on the jar. 

For a moment, Krista simply stood there, looking at him with a little knowing smile on her face. “You have such a sweet aura around you, Marco. Who do you have a crush on?” 

The question made the brunette drop his ladle into one of the pots, and he had to yank his hand back to avoid getting scalded by splashing oil. “Shit! Ah...What’re you talking about? I don’t have a crush on anybody. Especially somebody who doesn't call after taking me out and telling me how much he wants to fuck me.” 

Krista hummed, setting her basket on the counter. She had the same look that Mikasa did when he’d said that Jean wasn't a problem. She didn't believe him one bit. “So is this the same guy who’s been taking up all your free time lately and running your blood pressure up?” 

She really liked to hit the nail on the head. Then again, she was a teacher who was used to small children trying to fib their way out of trouble. She was not a person to lie to. 

Marco sighed and turned off the stove. He grabbed a stool and motioned for his friend to take a seat somewhere in the room. If they were going to talk, he wasn't going to do it distracted. 

“Jean took me out drinking last weekend. We...We got a little drunk and went back to his place. We made out and he started saying how he wanted to fuck me, how he thought I was hot. He told me about his childhood and took me to his favorite bar…” he said, running messy fingers through his hair. Whatever, it needed washed anyway. 

“I thought he wanted to...I don’t know, I thought we were starting to be more than friends or something.” It was a strange notion since sometimes he still couldn't believe they _were_ friends. They were probably the worst friends in history anyway, since they hardly talked about anything personal. 

With a pensive look, Krista pressed her palms together. “Have you tried calling him instead?” 

Marco nodded. “No answer. After a while his phone went dead or just off or something. Like he was ignoring me.” 

It was entirely possibly that Jean was ignoring him, actually. Drunk mistakes happened all the time and making out with a guy he wasn't all that close to was definitely a mistake. 

Okay, making out with a guy wasn't the mistake but the whole not knowing each other too well and...okay he needed stop thinking about it before he made himself anymore upset than he already was. 

Krista reached over and put a gentle hand on his knee, squeezing a bit to comfort him. “Look, Marco, I don’t think he’s ignoring you. I think he might be busy. I mean, I’m an eternal optimist but at least give him a chance to make it up to you before giving up on him, alright?” 

With that said, she gave him a reassuring smile and got up to retrieve her basket. “I have to get home and finish grading assignments so I’ll see you tomorrow. Go easy on him, Marco,” she said as she took her leave, Thalia following her to the door to chase her flowing skirts. 

With the shop left empty, Marco went back to work to finish storing the oil he needed for work.

Krista did have a point, about the possibility that Jean was busy. With how busy his own work kept him, he imagined Jean could get just was overwhelmed with things to do. It would explain neglecting his phone too. Marco wasn't even sure where his cell phone was right now. Maybe upstairs in his apartment? 

Diving back into work kept him occupied though, the advice of his friend soothing any tension he had left in his system. The oil jars were labeled and put up with all his liquid crafting ingredients, before he dragged out a box of small vials with droppers. 

He was about half way through filling the pre-labeled vials before he heard the door bells jingle again. Thalia meowed loudly at whoever came in, as if in complaint about them being there. 

Marco rolled his stiff shoulders and cleared his throat. “I’m in the back, I’ll be right out if you need anything!” he called. 

A familiar, rough laugh greeted his ears. 

“Usually what I need is in the back, but alright.” 

Wiping his hands off, Marco bolted out of the back room, grinning like mad. “Jean! Where the hell have you been! You never returned my calls!” 

He meant it to be scolding but he was just too happy to see the blond train wreck that he couldn't bring himself to actually be mad at the moment. 

Jean had Thalia in his arms, the fuzzbutt nuzzling her face into his chin happily. “Sorry, I got a little busy for a few days. But hey, I’m here now.” 

That stupid wolfish grin somehow made Marco happy.

He nodded and walked right up to him, giving the other a good look over, trying to see if he was doing alright at the moment. 

He looked like he’d gotten some sleep for once and a much needed good meal. Maybe? He looked more hydrated at the very least. Something still seemed strange though, like there was something wrong but he couldn't place it. Maybe it was just because he wasn't used to seeing Jean with his shit together for once. 

Still smiling he leaned in a bit, intending to kiss the other on the cheek. 

Only for Jean to pull away. 

He coughed awkwardly, so obviously a fake. “So uh, what've you been up to? Just work? Gotten out with your uh, your coven anymore lately?” 

Was Jean really going to change the subject? 

Then again, it was a bit presumptuous to assume that he’d be okay with kissing right here, right now. Not that they were in immediate danger if they got seen but small towns like this were all kinds of homophobic. 

Or was it something else? 

Had that night really been just a drunk mistake? So he crossed his arms over his chest, giving the blonde an expectant look, waiting for some kind of explanation. 

 

Jean let Thalia down to rub against his legs, running a now free hand through his hair. Where did he even start? That he had skeletons in his closet he wasn’t ready for Marco to find out about? That he really liked him but he wasn't ready for a relationship right now? 

Both sounded like such bullshit excuses but they were the truth. There was so much the other didn't know about him and when he found out, he might not feel the same anymore. He also knew he wasn't going to do anybody any good in his current state. Not when he was still trying to piece his life back together. 

“Marco, look…About the other night. I had a great time, I really did. You’re wonderful and fuck, you’re really really hot. I just, I don’t think now is a good time,” he said, trying to look apologetic for this.

He shouldn't have to apologize for rejecting somebody but he knew he’d led Marco on, let him think they might have something going. It wasn't fair of him. 

The brunette frowned, in the mother-ish disapproving way that made him expect an ‘I’m disappointed’ lecture from him. 

“Not the right time? Not the right time or not the right guy, Jean? You’re never fully honest with me and I've let it slide because I get that not everybody wants to talk about everything but this...I just thought…” 

Fuck, he looked so sad and even the freckles on his cheek bones pulled downward as his face fell.

Fuck me sideways with a rusty shovel, Jean thought as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

“I did too but there’s just too much I’m not ready to tell you for us to work. I want to be with you but I want you to have the best of me when that happens. Not this, not what I am now.”

As he spoke, he watched Marco’s frown deepen further, making his own gut twist. He hated disappointing people. It was possibly the worst feeling in the world for him.

But, when he was finished speaking, the blond looked up from his feet to see Marco smiling at him. 

What?

“Oh Jean, its okay. I know its difficult for you trying to do this on your own, but I can help you,” he said as he reached out and gave Jean’s shoulder a comforting kind of squeeze. 

“...Marco, I really don’t think you-oohf!”

The brunette pulled Jean into a tight hug, holding him against his warm body. “I’m so proud of you for giving up black magic!” he exclaimed. 

As nice as it was to be hugged, to be embraced by this gorgeous, wonderful human being, Marco was getting the wrong picture. 

“What? No! Marco, no, that’s...That’s not what I’m talking about,” Jean said, forcing himself to pull away and look the other in the eyes. Those beautiful hazel eyes searched Jean’s own as if to see if he was lying again. 

He wasn't. 

Frowning again, Marco dropped his arms from around the blonde's waist. “Then, what _are_ you talking about?”

At first he couldn't even answer him. Jean shuffled a bit, running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat. 

Like a bandaid, Jean, just do it like a bandaid, he told himself. 

“I’m a recovering drug addict, Marco. I was in the hospital for the last couple days cause I took some meds by accident that fucked up my stomach even more than it already is. I...I wanna finish getting my life back together before I make somebody else a part of it.” 

The look of betrayal on Marco’s face hurt, hurt more than a broken rib and Jean had had a few of those before. 

“A drug addict? Jean, were you using when I met you?! How long has this been going on? Have you even gotten treatment?! You look half dead for Goddess’s sake!” 

Marco almost seemed angry, angry and confused and hurt at the same time. Like Jean had lied to him about who he was this whole time. 

The blond hadn't even lied really, he just hadn't been as truthful as he should’ve been. It was embarrassing enough to have a rehab counselor come knocking on his door once a month to have him pee in a cup. Admitting he wasn't at the end of his treatment was even worse. 

“I haven’t! I have! I, I haven’t been using in almost a year, okay? I still get checked on now and then to make sure I stay clean but in a few months that’s done with and, and I’m totally cleared as clean,” he said, suddenly reaching out and grabbing onto Marco’s arms. 

He didn't want him to storm off, to just decide he wasn't worth loving anymore because of this. 

 

Taking a few deep breaths, the brunette seemed to calm down, feeling the desperation in the grip on his arms. “I believe you, Jean. I do, I promise.”

Goddess, did Jean have a beautiful smile. It made all of him light up. Not that wolfish one that made him look like a predator but his genuine one. It made Marco smile in return, a warm hand coming up to cup the other’s face. 

“And if you can do this, get clean from drugs, I know you can clean up the rest of your life too. I can help you, honey. Let me help you, please?” His thumb stroked pale skin, feeling how smooth and chilled it was under his hand. 

But, Jean was frowning again, pulling away even. “...Fucking hell. Marco, I’m not your charity case! I’m not fucking broken! I don’t need to be fixed or whatever the hell you’re trying to pull here.” 

The hurt look in those amber eyes made him reel back, pulling his hand away as if he’d been burned by the anger under Jean’s skin. 

“Jean, honey, you know that’s not what I’m trying to do! I care about you! I want you to be safe and, and healthy and…” His words died on his tongue as the blond scowled. 

It physically made his chest hurt to see how angry and hurt he’d made the other, to see unshed tears in his eyes. 

“I _am_ safe and I _am_ healthy. I have health problems but I’m fine! I’m fucking fine! I get that you don’t like how I practice my craft but where the hell do you get off telling me what to believe in? Its just as bad as people who witchcraft is evil,” he spat, his finger pointing at Marco accusingly. 

Taken aback, he found he didn't have a response...because Jean was right. It was just as bad and he hadn't even thought about it. He’d been raised to practice strictly white magic by his parents who had taught him everything he knew. They even gave him their shop when they retired to travel the world. 

_Harm none, but do as ye will._

Did it still count as harm if it was emotional? Then again, why would it not? It was still unkind and caused a kind of harm to another person. 

Indoctrination wasn't just something that happened to Christian children. It happened in all religions. 

Jean sneered at him, watching the realization dawn on him. “Take your martyr complex and shove it up your ass.” 

“Jean, wait, I’m sorry, I...I never thought about it, I…” His tongue just couldn't find the words he needed right now, the words he needed to keep Jean here. 

So he left, leaving Marco to watch the other leave his shop empty and the door bells echoing in the quiet.


	9. Well FUck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a chapter I am so sorry I am trash

I'm so sorry for the lack of update. 

I've been going through the process of being screened for ovarian cancer since January and I only recently got my results back. I'm having a procedure done on the 17th of April to nip everything in the bud and I'll be okay, guys. I just haven't been able to write lately. 

If you all ever need to know what's going on with me, my twitter handle is KalidoMoonScope (there is no E after the L on purpose cause character limits) or it might be easier to find me by my name which is "GayWitchCraft". I'm usually on there and give updates on my life and health. 

I'm going to continue this fic, I promise, but please understand that I prioritize my family and health over it. 

Blessed be, all my wonderful readers <3


	10. Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important Announcement is Important

So I'm sure you're all wondering when this fic is going to continue and when I'm going to post again. Unfortunately I'm not. Not this anyway. After a long period of time away from W&B, I went through a lot of personal changes due to my still declining health, religious epiphanies and changes in my current long term relationship. So I'm rebooting it. I started this fic on a whim, from a vague prompt with a lot of enthusiasm but not a lot of experience. I got 8 chapters into this and realized it wasn't what I wanted. I didn't connect with it the way I was hoping I would. 

I'm starting from scratch after the new year. It's going to still be Jean Marco, it'll still be sent in my middle of bum-fuck nowhere town, it'll still be centered around religion and personal challenges....Just, not what's happening here. It's going to be more light-hearted in a lot of ways and I'm hoping to use it as a way to cope with the changes that are now affecting my life. So it may not be all shits and giggles but it'll be real. 

Thank each and every one of you for supporting me through this and come January 1st, the new fic will be up though under a different name. I'll leave this up for a while longer and if you have questions or comments, please feel free to leave them in the comments. I hope you'll all be here for what's coming.


End file.
